THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


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Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcinive 

in  2009  witii  funding  from 

University  of  Nortin  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/joeboyinwartimesOObigh 


JO£: 


R  Boy  ii]  ttje  War-tinqes 


BY    R.  W.  BIGHHM, 

Authorof  "  Vinny  Leal's  Trip  to  the  Golden  Shore,"  "  Wine  and  Blood ;  or. 
Uncle  Viv'a  Story,"  and  "California  Gold-field  Scenes." 


FOURTH  THOUSAND, 


Sunday-school  Department. 

Publishing  House  op  the  M.  e.  Church,  South. 

Barbee  &  Smith,  Agents,  Nashville,  Tenn. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  tlie  year  1869, 

Br  THE  Book  Agents  op  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Choech,  South, 

In  the  Office  of  ilic  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Wasliinjrton. 


CONTENTS. 

ClTAPTEPv  I.  PAGB 

Driven  Awcay  from  Home 7 

Chapter  II. 
A  Fl^me  Shot  up  Into  the  Clouds 19 

Chapter  III. 
Falling  in  with  Grateful  Enemies 38 

Chapter  IV. 
Joe  said,  "  On,  Boone,  on ! " 54 

Chapter  V. 
The  Refugees  Safe  Among  Friends 67 

Chapter  VI. 
A  New  Experience  to  Joe 76 

Chapter  VII. 
A  Rebel  Soldier  Kissed  the  Coffin 90 

Chapter  VIII. 
Sounded  from  the  Jungle 103 

Chapter  IX. 

Gathering  of  the  Armies 128 

(3) 


602723 


Contents. 


Chapter  X.  p\oe 

The  Roar  as  of  Many  Thundere 142 

Chapter  XI. 
The  Boy  on  the  Battle-field 152 

Chapter  XII. 
A  Despairing  Mother's  Joy 1  <U 

Chapter  XIII. 
A  Rare,  Brave,  Gentle  Lad 182 

Chapter  XIV. 
A  Joyous  Family  Reunion 193 

Chapter  XV. 
Returning  to  the  Old  Homestead 200 

Chapter  XVI. 
A  Touching  Story  Retold 212 

Chapter  XVII. 
Peace  ^Mcans  Peace  with  Brave  ^Men 223 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


The  following  story  is  full  of  stirring  incident.  The 
author  has  given  a  grai^hic  description  of  the  scenes 
through  which  many  Confederate  families  passed  dur- 
ing the  war.  He  has  avoided  all  bitterness  of  expres- 
sion and  all  unkind  partisan  feeling  in  the  narrative. 
Although  a  "  full-blooded  "  Southerner,  he  deals  kindly 
with  the  Federals,  even  when  describing  the  desolation 
produced  by  their  invasion  of  the  South.  He  gives  the 
"Unionists"  credit  for  kindness  to  their  Confederate 
neighbors,  when  entitled  to  it,  and  evidently  wishes  to 
be  just  to  all  parties  wdiile  true  to  his  own.  He  uses 
the  word  "  Eebel "  as  equivalent  to  Confederate,  in  his 
"  free-and-easy  "  way,  but  does  not  intend  by  it  to  im- 
ply the  stigma  of  rebellion.  As  a  true  Southerner  he 
must  resent  the  epithet  when  used  in  a  political  or  par- 
tisan sense.  The  Southerners  are,  and  always  have  been, 
loyal  to  the  principles  upon  which  our  government  was 
founded,  and  upon  which  our  free  institutions  rest  to- 
day. Resistance  to  the  aggressive  movements  of  a  dom- 
inant political  party  is  not  rebellion. 

AV.  G.  E.  CUNNYXGIIAM, 

Sunday-school  Editor. 
Nashville,  Tcnn.,  July,  18S9. 

(5) 


579833 


(6) 


JOE:  A  BOY  IN  THE  WUR-TIMES. 


CHAPTEl^  I. 

Driven  Away  from  Home. 

THE  mountains  were  round  about  the  narrow 
valley.  Huge  rocks  in  tangles  of  ferns  and 
mosses,  bleak  chasms  with  craggy  walls  of 
gray  rent  rocks,  bluffs  along  the  height  belted 
by  levels  breaking  into  drear  precipices,  the 
sheer  peaks,  the  wild  brakes  of  stone  and  shrub 
and  tree,  the  sky  bending  down  to  them,  set 
the  soul  to  thinking  of  mysteries.  They  were 
the  Alleghanies. 

They  were  often  called  the  Blue  Kidge;  for, 
however  bright  the  day,  the  mists  swam  along 
their  sides  and  brows  in  smoke-like  weaves, 
here  of  brighter,  there  of  darker  hues,  invest- 
ing every  thing  with  an  azure  too  delicate  for 
the  artist's  imitation,  so  strangely  ethereal 
that  the  mind  peoples  the  blue  wastes  with  ^^elf 
and  fairy  sprite"  and  restful  innocencv.     Yet 


8  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-tbnes. 

their  abysses  were  full  of  muttering  pain,  and 
splotches  of  blood  grimed  their  crags  and  leafy 
sides;  for,  in  the  Civil  War  of  1861-5,  both  the 
Federal  and  Confederate  armies  made  frequent 
incursions  among  them,  and  neighbor  was  set 
against  neighbor  whose  feuds  were  fierce,  mak- 
ing them  a  "dark  and  bloody  ground." 

Near  the  limy  creek,  which  encircled  the 
ridge  that  overlooked  the  valley  and  fell  into 
the  Tennessee  Eiver  a  few  miles  distant,  a 
long,  low  log  house  stood  in  1863,  sheltered 
by  great  oaks  and  flowering  vines.  Mrs.  Don- 
al,  whose  husband  was  in  the  Southern  army, 
,dwelt  there  with  her  children,  Joe,  Benny,  and 
Edna — ten,  eight,  and  six  years  of  age.  She 
often,  day  and  night,  looked  dreamily  toward 
some  far-off  ridges  dimmed  by  distance,  north 
of  the  sunny  valley,  for  she  had  last  heard  of 
her  husband  in  that  direction,  leading  his  Con- 
federate company  amidst  the  flames  of  battle. 

The  children  were  at  play  among  the  trees, 
their  rabbit-dog,  Boone,  helping  them  in  the 
fun;  but  every  now  and  then  a  hush  came  upon 
them,  and  they  peered  down  the  road  or  up 


Driven  Away  from  Home.  9 

the  trails  along  the  cliffs,  till  Joe  said;  "I 
don't  see  him.  If  I  could  jest  see  father  a — a 
little !  He's  been  gone  to  the  war  so  long.  You 
all  run  to  the  woods-gap  and  look  up  the  squir- 
rel path.  May  be  he's  a-comin'  from  the  army 
that-a-way." 

So  they  did.  Benny's  bare  feet  pattered 
over  the  pebbles,  and  little  Edna  sped  along 
with  him,  saying  every  step  or  two:  *' Benny, 
show  me  father  first.  Now,  Benny,  I  must  see 
him  first — mother  said  so."  "Well,"  he  re- 
plied, puffing  and  blowing,  "  I'll  jes' — jest  open 
my  eyes  a  little  bit  at  him  quick,  and  you  can 
see  him  all  over  first." 

But  they  found  him  not,  though  they  lin- 
gered peeping  through  the  fence-cracks  at  the 
mountain  whose  bulging,  jumbled  sides  and  ^y 
thickets  always  witched  them.  Yet  they  w^on- 
dered  at  the  stories  told  of  late,  of  soldiers  in 
hiding,  and  men  being  killed,  and  fierce  fights 
of  bands  of  Unionists  and  Southerners  in  the 
hollows  and  tops  of  the  mountains,  which 
scared  them  as  they  watched  the  blue  mists 
crawl  up  toward  its  rugged  crown.     Even  that 


10  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

morning  a  tragedy  was  enacted  in  its  jungles, 
Avliicli  ere  night  fired  with  intolerant  rage  the 
valley  neighbors;  for  a  Confederate  soldier 
venturing  home  on  a  sick  furlough  had  been 
seen  in  his  hiding-place  by  some  citizen  Union- 
ists, and  in  attempting  to  capture  him  two  of 
them  had  fallen  in  the  combat — one  slain,  an- 
other disabled  by  wounds. 

As  the  boy  and  the  girl  stood  at  the  gap  in 
the  valley,  pointing  out  to  each  other  the  naked 
places  on  the  mountain  where  the  trail  wind- 
ing among  the  mists  could  be  seen,  they  sud- 
denly hushed  their  prattle  and  climbed  upon 
the  fence,  amazed  by  the  long  zigzag  line  of 
blue  horsemen  with  flashing  weapons,  noAv  in 
a  clear  j^lace,  now  hidden  in  the  flowing  va- 
por, coming  down  toward  them.  They  watched 
the  troops  breathlessly  till,  startled  by  the 
bugle-notes  at  the  ford  of  the  creek,  echoed 
shrilly  by  tlie  wild  bluffs,  they  fled  to  Joe  and 
on  to  the  house,  whither  the  Federal  soldiers 
had  preceded  them  and  were  speaking  angrily 
to  their  mother  on  the  porch.  She  knew  most 
of  them,   for   many  had  joined   the  Fedei-ai 


Driven  Away  from  Home.  11 

army  from  the  valley,  and  from  the  dingles 
and  steeps  about  it.  Their  wrath  grew  as 
they  talked,  till  one  of  them  cursed  her,  and, 
pointing  far  up  the  ridge,  said:  "Some  one 
has  killed  Scott  to-day  up  near  the  summit, 
and  Eason  is  badly  wounded.  It  is  the  work 
of  Captain  Donal  or  of  some  of  his  like — 
curses  on  him.  We  will  burn  the  house  over 
your  head,  or  find  him  and  burn  him  in  the 
flames." 

She  appeared  more  like  a  life-size  statue 
than  a  living  form,  so  still  and  pale  had  his 
statement  made  her ;  but.  her  eyes  flashed  as 
she  thought  of  his  curse  and  threat  of  her  hus- 
band, and  she  replied:  *'Your  men  are  ran- 
sacking every  room  and  nook  for  him;  they 
need  not.  If  you  dare  go  where  bullets  fly 
thickest,  and  will  seek  him  at  the  battle-front, 
you  will  meet  him.  He  wars  not  upon  women 
and  children  and  homes.     Go." 

Her  voice  was  not  above  the  usual  conversa- 
tional tone,  yet  each  word  was  so  true  and  im- 
passioned that  it  fell  like  an  electric  spark 
upon  the  hearts  of  the  brave  men  present;  but 


12  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

they  repressed  any  show  of  approval  while  the 
bluut  soldier  quivered  with  sharae  and  fury  as 
he  retorted:  "  Yes,  at  the  battle-front,  if  not 
hereabout  shooting  his  betters  from  safe  hid- 
ing-places— running  fastest  from  the  Union- 
ists, for  the  cursed  rebels  are  now  flying  like 
gray  wolves  toward  Chattanooga." 

Her  face  turned  paler,  but  she  did  not  reply. 
It  was  the  first  news  she  had  had  of  the  Con- 
federate defeat  and  flight  from  the  posts  a 
score  or  so  of  miles  northward;  and  her  heart 
in  the  moment  told  her  of  deeper  woes  gath- 
ering for  her  and  hers.  Ere  the  angry  soldier 
could  add  other  derisive  words,  the  captain 
spurred  to  his  side,  and,  touching  his  cap  to 
her,  said:  "Pardon,  madam.  Your  husband 
is  known  well  to  some  of  us.  No  braver  man 
is  among  our  foes;  would  he  were  our  friend. 
Ours  is  a  painful  duty.  The  neighbors,  nearly 
all,  have  repeatedly  insisted  at  head-quarters 
that  you  and  other  rebel  families  must  leave. 
My  orders  are  to  send  you  away  within  thirty- 
six  hours.  I  beg  you  will  go  without  force. 
Several  Federal  companies  may  enter  the  val- 


Driven  Aivay  from  Home.  13 

ley  any  day,  as  it  is  true  the  Confederates  are 
retreating;  and  the  Unionists  in  this  section 
are  I'un  mad  by  neighborhood  strife  and  blood- 
shed added  to  the  other  horrors  of  war.  If 
you  are  not  gone  by  sunrise  the  second  day 
from  this  one — southward,  unless  you  prefer 
to  go  quite  above  the  Federal  lines — I  cannot 
answer  for  the  result.  The  place  may  be  sacked 
and  burned,  while  any  one  looking  kindly  upon 
you  may  get  into  like  trouble  for  befriending 
you.  You  certainly  will  be  forced  away  if  you 
delay.  In  the  excited  state  of  feeling  running 
so  wild  here  now  it  is  reasonable  to  expect 
the  worst — the  sooner  you  can  go  the  better. 
From  my  heart  I  wish  you  a  peaceful  jour- 
ney." And,  bowing,  at  his  signal  the  bugle 
sounded  to  march. 

Some  of  the  soldiers  scowled  as  they  wheeled 
into  line,  others  saluted  courteously,  and  a 
few,  as  though  to  avoid  noting  her  grief,  looked 
away  across  the  hills,  the  shadows  of  the  twi- 
light settling  down  upon  every  thing. 

She  stood  in  the  door-way  Igng  after  the  sol- 
diers had  disappeared,  the  children  clinging 


14  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

to  her.     Every  now  and  then  Joe  said,  "  Moth-  ' 
er,    mother,"    but   she   answered   not.     Edna 
kissed  her  hand,  then  kissed  it  again,  but  she 
noticed  not;  and  hot-headed  Benny  said  an- 
gry words,  but  she  heard  them  not. 

The  minutes  flew  by,  the  darkness  thickened, 
the  mountain  vapors  gathered  themselves  into 
black  banks  and  rolled  down  into  the  valley, 
filling  it  with  the  roar  of  the  rain,  the  sough- 
ing trees  rattled  their  interlocked  limbs  above 
her,  but  she  stood  there,  only  smothered  sobs 
telling  the  children  she  was  alive.  Joe  drew 
a  chair  close  to  her,  and  tugged  at  her  dress 
and  said:  "  Sit  down,  mother!  res' — rest  some, 
now.  Never  mi — mind,  mother;  we'll  tell  fa- 
ther when  he  comes." 

Alas,  Joe !  the  wear's  griefs  and  cares  have  en- 
tered your  boyish  heart  in  earnest  at  last,  and 
the  trouble  is  more  than  father  can  manage, 
however  all-sufficient  a  boy's  father  appears  to 
him  to  be.  Yet  it  was  well  that  he  could  not 
see  beyond  the  present  evil.  Had  he  seen 
then  the  troubles  like  black  clouds  gathering 
over  the  family's  f  aturo,  whicli  were  to  burden 


Driven  Away  from  Home.  15 

him  as  though  he  were  a  man,  his  heart  woukl 
have  despaired.  Though  his  mother  shivered 
as  she  heard  the  suppressed  sob  which  accom- 
panied his  tender  words,  she  remained  stand- 
ing gazing  into  the  black  night.  The  chill  of 
the  rain-fall  crept  about  the  open  house  from 
room  to  room,  a  hush  came  upon  the  children, 
the  old  house  seemed  to  be  tenantless,  the  dog 
fled  into  the  yard  from  the  mysterious  silence 
and  howled  for  very  loneliness,  a  catamount's 
scream  echoed  in  the  gorges,  thunders  rolled 
just  above  her  as  though  the  clouds  were 
breaking  into  rain  again,  and  the  roar  of  the 
torrents  tumbling  from  the  crags  to  the  groan- 
ing creek  troubled  the  air  about  her;  but 
neither  the  silence  nor  the  tumult  moved  her 
— absorbed  in  her  thickening  griefs.  At  last 
she  said,  as  though  whispering  to  the  sprites 
of  the  mists:  "My  forefathers  built  this  old 
house  long  ago,  amidst  Indian  war-whoops 
and  tomahawks.  I  was  born  and  wedded  in 
it.  Here  my  children  were  born,  and  my  par- 
ents went  to  heaven  from  it.  It  is  the  only 
home  I  have  ever  known.     My  heart  is  linked 


16  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

to  it  by  fond  memories.  My  life  is  wedded  to 
it — to  its  rooms  aud  its  trees,  and  fruits  and 
flowers,  its  mountains  and  skies.  How  can  I 
give  it  up?  But  it  must  be.  '  Go  quite  above 
the  Federal  lines!'  No,  no.  I'll  follow  my 
retreating  people  southward,  and  live  or  die 
as  they  live  or  die — their  fate,  dark  or  bright, 
I  will  share." 

The  clouds  rolled  on,  and  the  lightning 
played  in  her  dark  hair  and  fell  about  her 
children  clinging  to  her  dress;  and  she  sat 
down,  and  they  leaned  upon  her  as  she  wept 
softly,  till  they  were  asleep — and  she  remem- 
bered they  were  supperless.  So  she  let  the 
sleeping  forms  rest  upon  the  floor,  and,  clos- 
ing the  house,  kindled  a  fire  and  soon  gath- 
ered them  around  her  to  a  supper  of  bread 
and  milk.  When  she  called  them  about  her 
in  prayer,  they  repeated  each  petition  after 
her  as  usual  till  she  said,  "And  bless  our  en- 
emies, the  Unionists,  and  give  them  good 
hearts."  Edna  repeated  the  words  promptly, 
Joe  hesitantly  and  only  because  of  his  rever- 
ence for  lier.     She  waited  to  hear  Benny  re- 


Driven  Aimy  from  Home.  17 

peat  them,  but  lie  was  silent.  She  thought 
she  knew  what  was  perplexing  the  hot-headed 
lad— that  his  mind  was  full  of  the  scene  on 
the  porch,  with  the  threatening,  cursing  sol- 
dier, and  she  said  again,  quietly:  "Bless  our 
enemies,  and  give  them  good  hearts." 

But  Benny  stuck  his  face  down  harder  in 
the  chair,  and  said  nothing. 

Joe  said:  ''Say  it,  Benny.  Don't  you  see 
mother's  a-waitin'  for  you?  " 

He  whispered  back:  "I  won't  say  it — they 
cussed  father." 

His  mother  repeated  it  again,  but  no  word 
fell  from  his  lips,  and  she  said:  "Benny,  say 
the  words— the  Lord  says,  'Pray  for  your  en- 
emies.' " 

But  Benny  screwed  about  upon  his  knees, 
and  shoved  his  forehead  and  nose  harder  down 
on  the  chair,  and  said  nothing. 

Joe  shook  him,  and  said:  "Benny,  why 
don't  you  say  what  mother  wants  you  to  say  ? 
Can't  you  hear  her?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  softly  replied,  "  co'se  I  hears,  but 
I  won't  say  them  words.    I  tell  you  they  cussed 


IS  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

father,  aucl  they  cussed  at  her.     I  won't  pray 
fur  'em." 

She  heard  the  by-play  and  passed  on  to 
•other  petitions,  Benny's  sprightly  voice  at 
once  responding;  but  after  the  amen  was  said, 
he  looked  about  quite  ruefully  till  he  nodded, 
when  she  led  him  to  his  bed  and  arranged  the 
covering  about  him,  and  kissed  him. 


CHAPTEt^  II. 

A  Flame  Shot  up  Into  the  Clouds. 

JOE  and  Edna  also  were  presently  abed,  and 
Mrs.  Donal  sat  alone  watching  the  live 
coals  melting  into  ashes  on  the  hearth,  wist- 
fully thinking  whither  to  go  and  how.  The 
more  she  thought  the  less  plain  the  way  ap- 
peared, for  her  thoughts  were  tangled  with 
fears  and  soft  sentiments,  till  her  future  seemed 
like  a  drear  waste  of  liorrible  sights  and  sounds, 
through  which  no  path  led.  Sleep  had  scarcely 
closed  her  eyes  ere  morning  awoke  her  to  face 
her  troubles,  and  she  went  down  to  the  spring 
for  Avater  before  making  the  fire  to  cook  the 
simple  breakfast. 

The  sun  was  already  flooding  the  mountains 
with  light,  and  pouring  streams  of  warming 
rays  into  the  cool  valley,  and  the  birds  were 
filling  the  woods  with  the  songs  she  had  heard 
in  her  untroubled  childhood.  She  lingered  at 
the  fountain  a  few  moments,  and  as  she  looked 

(19) 


20  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

and  listened  she  was  startled  by  a  rudely  clad 
man  stepping  into^view  near  her,  as  he  said: 
"  Excuse  me;  are  you  not  the  wife  of  the  Con- 
federate Captain  Donal?" 

"  I  am,  sir,"  she  replied;  and  there  was  an 
anxious  tremor  in  her  voice  as  she  added: 
"  What  of  him?  Does  he  live?  Let  me  have 
your  message  quickly.    Do  not  say  he  is  dead!  " 

"  You  may  hope  for  the  best  concerning  him," 
he  answered;  "  but  my  errand  concerns  your 
removal.  I  have  heard  harsh  threats  of  trouble 
to  you  ere  noon.  I  am  here  to  warn  you.  I 
am  an  enemy  to  your  people — a  Federal  scout. 
A  few  months  ago  I  was  prisoner  to  Captain 
Donal,  and  was  desperately  wounded.  He 
spent  much  of  his  time  when  off  duty  nursing 
me.  I  must  have  died  without  his  care.  He 
is  my  enemy,  yet  in  a  good  sense — my  friend. 
I  know  were  he  and  I  to  meet  now  it  would  bo 
a  fight  to  the  capture  or  death  of  one  of  us; 
but  were  my  wife  in  peril  as  you  are,  and  he 
was  near  as  I  am  to  you,  he  would  protect  her 
if  he  could.  I  would  that  only  men  could 
suffer  in  this  war.     You  will  find,  a  few  steps 


A  Flame  Shot  up  Into  the  Clouds.  21 

up  the  path  to  the  house,  a  light  package — it 
is  a  trifle  compared  to  what  I  owe  your  hus- 
band. It  may  be  useful  to  you.  Let  me  urge 
you  to  hurry  your  departure,  and  to  get  as  far 
southward  as  you  can  to-day.  A  few  hours' 
delay  may  bring  about  you  unreasoning,  mer- 
ciless men  who  will  destroy  your  home  and 
any  means  of  removal  you  may  have,  and  an- 
noy you  every  way.  Get  away  as  fast  as  you 
can.  If  they  pursue  you,  I  hope,  unseen,  to 
turn  them  from  their  purpose  until  you  are  so 
far  beyond  the  river  that  they  will  fear  to  fol- 
low. AVith  the  coins  in  the  package  you  will 
find  a  small  medal.  If  you  will  show  it  when 
troubled  by  our  soldiers,  and  if  any  present 
know  me,  they  will  do  you  any  kindness  they 
can,  not  against  Federal  orders." 

He  disappeared  down  the  jungly  branch 
before  she  could  speak;  and  then  she  stood 
awhile,  like  some  daft  one,  watching  in  the 
direction  he  had  gone.  Soon  she  was  shocked 
by  fierce  exclamations  amidst  Boone's  harsh 
i^rowls  and  the  quick  words  of  Joe,  "  Down, 
Boone — down,  sir;  down,  I  tell  you,"  followed 


^'1  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

by  a  brief  parley.  She  recognized  the  scout's 
voice  as  promptly  as  she  did  Joe's,  and  knew 
by  its  tones  that  it  was  peace  between  him  and 
the  boy.  In  a  few  moments  Joe  joined  her  at 
the  spring,  and  said:  "I  missed  you,  motlier, 
and  came  to  see  about  you.  Boone  overtook 
me.  AVe  came  the  lower  path  to  the  spring, 
and  as  we  crossed  the  branch  in  the  hazel- 
thicket  we  met  a  man  that  Boone  didn't  like." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  interrupted,  "  it  is  all  right. 
He  is  a  Federal  soldier,  and  says  we  had  best 
move  away  at  once.  Your  father  won  his  good- 
will by  saving  his  life,  he  thinks,  by  tender 
nursing.  That's  like  your  father;  no  mother 
can  be  kinder  than  he  is  to  the  helpless  when 
in  his  power.     I  hope  you  will  be  like  him." 

"  The  man  told  me,"  said  Joe,  "  that  he  knew 
me  by  my  picture  father  used  to  show  him 
when  he  was  a  wounded  prisoner.  He  said  I 
must  tell  you  to  be  sure  to  go  away  tiiis  very 
hour  if  you  can,  because  the  bush-wdiackers 
have  sworn  awful  things  against  us  before 
dinner-time  comes.  They've  robbed  us  o' 
neaily  every  thing  a'ready  'cept  the  milk-cows, 


A  Flame  Shot  up  Into  the  Clouds.  23 

Het  and  ole  Eed,  that  hid  in  the  mountains 
from  'em.  They's  meaner  than  the  worst  o' 
the  real  Yankees,  mother.  That  was  a  bush- 
whacker that  cussed  so  about  father  yester- 
day, fur  he  wasn't  dressed  like  the  rest  o'  the 
company." 

Mrs.  Donal  made  no  reply,  though  she  knew 
that  Joe's  inference  was  correct,  for  she  had 
recognized  the  insulting  soldier  the  evening 
before  as  one  of  the  desperadoes  who  had 
plundered  the  house  and  farm  a  year  before, 
and  she  silently  turned  with  Joe  up  the  path 
to  the  house.  She  quickly  found  the  package 
the  scout  had  described,  and  placed  it  in  the 
folds  of  her  dress.  Happily  there  was  no  need 
to  prepare  a  breakfast,  for  on  entering  the 
kitchen  she  found  just  within  the  window 
bountiful  supplies  of  provisions  nicely  cooked. 
Some  one  had  placed  them  there  the  night  be- 
fore while  she  slept— who,  she  knew  not.  But 
it  was  old  Farmer  Prenant,  she  thought.  He 
hated  the  Confederate  cause,  as  she  and  hers 
loved  it—with  all  the  heart— yet  loved  her  as 
one  brought  up  as  his  own  child,  for  she  had 


24  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-tinies. 

been  left  to  his  care  from  early  girlhood  by 
her  parents  when  they  went  to  heaven — one  so 
soon  after  the  other — from  the  old  homestead. 
Many  joys  had  she  imparted  to  his  old,  weary, 
rugged  heart  in  its  clinging  to  life  and  its  con- 
flicts with  cares,  for  his  own  little  girls  had  all 
gone  to  the  world  of  angels  before  she  became 
the  playmate  of  his  boys  older  than  she  -  Hal, 
Frank,  and  Andy.  She  almost  knew  the  cook- 
ing was  that  of  his  wife,  old  Aunt  Hetty,  who 
hated  nothing  and  put  the  sweetness  of  her 
loving  heart  into  every  thing  she  did  or  said. 
AVith  the  majority  in  that  section  of  Tennes-  , 
see,  he  inflexibly  adhered  to  the  Federals  in 
the  war,  and  his  sons  and  property  and  influ- 
ence were  all  at  their  disposal;  yet  he  did  much 
to  appease  the  mutual  fury  of  the  Unionists 
and  Confederates  in  that  locality,  for  the  peo- 
ple conceded  much  to  his  righteous  old  age 
and  more  to  his  superior  sense  and  courage 
and  tried  fidelity  to  his  convictions.  The  fac- 
tions ran  mad  there  at  times.  They  were  like 
houses  divided  against  themselves.  Trouble 
and  liate,  loss  and  reproacli,  if  not  dishonor, 


A  Flame  Shot  up  Into  the  Clouds.  25 

and  perils  and  death  embroiled  tliem  on  all 
sides.  They  seemed  to  be  tossed  from  woe  to 
woe  by  dissensions  concerning  the  war,  as 
though  Satan  were  tossing  them  from  fire  to 
fire.  Sometimes — perhaps  he  could  not  help 
it — old  Farmer  Prenant  made  the  strife  fiercer 
by  bitter,  hot  words.  Even  the  children  were 
at  yariance,  and  their  battles  were  far  from 
scarless,  for  rocks  proved  harder  than  heads, 
and  left  gashes  and  bruises  on  the  lads,  re- 
minding them  that  "  Secesh  "  and  "  Unionist " 
meant  fury,  not  fun.  Of  course  Joe's  head 
had  felt  many  of  the  stony  missiles,  and  Ben- 
ny's head,  that  always  liked  to  be  next  to  Joe's, 
had  stopped  not  a  few  of  them.  Happily  they 
had  escaped  unhurt  by  the  later  mimic  bat- 
tles, and  were  ready  for  breakfast  when  Edna 
called  them,  after  the  return  of  her  mother 
and  Joe  from  the  spring. 

After  breakfasting,  the  boys  quickly  yoked 
Het  and  Hed  to  the  cart  which  Mrs.  Donal 
and  Edna  were  storing  wdth  things  for  the 
journey.  Farmer  Prenant  and  Aunt  Hetty, 
descrying    the    preparations    to    move,   came 


2G  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War 4 hues. 

across  the  little  brown  meadow  to  the  busy 
scene.  As  the  old  man  helped  to  load  the  cart 
to  the  best  advantage  he  wiped  his  big  steel- 
rimmed  ''specs"  much  of  tenor  than  usual,  for 
somehow  they  got  hazy  that  morning  more 
than  common,  so  that  he  could  not  see  things 
clearly.  No  wonder,  for  the  glasses  were  be- 
tween two  mists  as  he  helped  the  boys  and  said 
the  pleasantest  things  to  them— the  mist  from 
the  dews  without,  and  the  mist  from  his  eyes 
within — and  Joe  whispered  aside  to  Benny: 
"Grandsir's  tears  jes'  keeps  a-fallin';  he's 
a-sorrowin'  a  heap  about  somethin'."  But  the 
old  man  busied  himself  here  and  there,  and 
when  the  cart  was  ready  to  start  Aunt  Hetty 
feaid  to  Mrs.  Donal:  "  Reeny,  now  Eeeny,  don't 
be  downhearted,  child.  The  Good  One  above 
us  all  will  take  care  o'  you  an'  the  children,  no 
matter  what  happens.  May  he  give  you,  honey, 
all  th€  way  you  go,  every  moment,  the  kiss  o* 
peace,  for — for — m — me,  Beeny,  as  I  give  you 
this  last  kiss  o'  blessin'  to  you  an'  to  youre  for- 
ever. You're  no  dfirter  on  our'n,  an'  yet  you 
is  our  own  dear  darter,  fur  you  was  neai'ly  all 


A  Flame  Shot  vp  Info  the  Clouds.  27 

tlie  time  in  our  house  ontil  you  an'  Jimmy 
Donal  got  married,  an'  my  boys  alius  called 
you  'Little  Sister.'  O  Reeny,  Reeny,  tliem 
boys  will  go  mad  an'  blaze  out  when  they 
hears  o'  all  this.  When  they  took  me  in  their 
big  arms  and  told  me  good-by  the  day  they 
jined  the  Federal  army,  they  said:  *  Now,  moth- 
er, don't  let  any  evil  come  to  Little  Sister.  E£ 
any  hurt  comes  to  Reeny,  mother,  w^e'U  never 
rest  ontil  we  pay  it  all  back,  no  n:iatter  who 
does  it.  She's  a  right  ter  be  a  rebel  ef  she 
w^ants  ter  be.  Bless  Little  Sister  for  us,  moth- 
er, always." 

Reeny  sat  upon  the  steps  and  wept,  but  Aunt 
Hetty  held  on  to  the  porch-post  and  kept  talk- 
ing, and  said:  "But  now  it's  come,  child,  it's 
come — the  evil  and  the  hurt — an'  I  can't  help 
it;  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  to  think  I  can't  help 
it,  an'  you  so  young  an'  sweet  an'  good."  And 
she  softly  passed  her  hand  over  Reeny's  face, 
and  said:  "Yes,  you  is  good,  child,  good  as 
them  as  is  the  best;  and  ter  think  I  can't  help 
you."  And  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  her, 
and  trembled  and  kissed  her  again,  and  went 


28  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

down  the  path  home,  taking  Reeny's  keys  ami 
eyes  and  heart  with  her.  But  as  she  was 
crossing  the  little  ravine  in  the  meadow  she 
must  have  stopped  to  weep  unseen,  for  E,eeny 
did  not  see  her  clambering  up  tlie  farther 
bank,  though  she  watched  thither  to  behold 
her  again. 

Old  Farmer  Pronant  stood  the  while  lean- 
ing on  his  staff,  looking  from  Eeeny  to  the 
children  and  from  them  to  her,  essaying  to 
Bpeak;  but  he  could  not.  Then  he  went  close 
to  her,  and  gently  pushed  her  sun-bonnet  back 
from  her  brow,  and  gazed  down  into  her  face, 
and  put  his  old  palsied  hands  upon  her  head  a 
few  moments,  and  kissed  her  forehead,  and, 
without  a  word,  turned  down  the  path  after 
Aunt  Hetty. 

Reeny  knew  the  old  man's  ways  by  heart; 
and  that  speechless  good-by  and  the  tears  he 
had  left  upon  her  brow  Avere  a  joy  and  help 
to  her  in  many  trials  thereafter. 

She  spent  no  time  repining,  but  clambered 
into  the  cart  after  the  children  had  taken  their 
places,  Boone  beside  it;  and,  Joe  giving  the 


A  Flame  Shoi  up  Mo  the  Clouds.  29 

word,  Het  and  Eed  moved  briskly  down  the 
pebbly  slant,  and  the  old  home  was  hidden 
from  her  view  as  they  turned  round  the  great 
gray  rock  that  towered  up  among  the  trees 
and  leaned  over  the  creek.  ^ 

Several  of  the  neighbor  women  spoke  to 
her  by  her  Christian  name,  Reeny,  and  threw 
her  good-by  kisses  as  she  passed  one  and  an- 
other cabin  on  the  road-side.  Her  heart  was 
BO  tender  and  brave,  her  manner  so  gentle  and 
helpful  to  others,  that  even  strangers  soon 
called  her  not  Mrs.  Donal,  but  Reeny,  as 
though  they  had  knoAvn  and  loved  her  al- 
ways. 

She  was  over  the  river  before  the  rougher 
Unionists,  across  the  spur  from  the  valley  iu 
which  she  had  lived,  heard  she  was  gone;  and 
they  met  such  reports  of  Confederate  scout- 
ing parties  ahead  of  them  as  they  pursued 
her  that  they  turned  back  in  haste.  The  Fed- 
eral scout,  who  had  met  her  at  the  spring  that 
morning,  had  no  doubt  helped  to  spread  the 
reports,  and  so  saved  her  from  their  violence. 
That  night  she  camped  upon  a  mountain- 


30  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  Wur-tlines. 

side  overlooking  fields  and  woods  not  ten  miles 
from  her  home  as  the  crow  flies,  though  she 
had  come  nearly  twice  as  many  to  get  there, 
over  the  road  crooking  round  the  spurs  and 
winding  along  the  gorges. 

The  children  seemed  to  forget  that  they 
were  homeless  in  the  excitement  and  new 
scenes  of  the  journey,  and  were  merry  round 
the  bright  fire  awhile,  though  Boone  and  Het 
and  old  Eed  went  to  sleep  pretty  soon  after 
getting  their  supper.  But  after  teasing  one 
another  till  fun  had  lost  its  crispness,  and  the 
prayer  with  their  mother  was  said,  they  fell  to 
nodding  and  presently  crawled  into  the  cart 
covered  with  two  coarse  sheets  stitched  to- 
gether, and  coiled  down  to  sleep.  She  too 
was  weary  now,  but  the  darkened  woods  and 
heavens  had  a  strange  witchery  for  her  that 
night,  and  she  often  gazed  out  over  the  som- 
ber expanse  toward  her  old  forsaken  home; 
for  her  thoughts,  mingled  with  tears,  would 
keep  reverting  to  it.  Soft  voices,  like  the 
music  of  rills  in  distant  dells,  came  to  her 
across  the  nighted  waste,  whispering  of   the 


A  Flame  Shot  vp  Info  the  Clouds.  81 

times  wlien,  lier  dark  hair  a  babyish  white, 
she  learned  to  prattle  at  its  hearth  somewhat 
overmuch  she  thought,  and  her  mother's  songs 
of  heaven  Jiad  brought  the  angels  about  her, 
and  she  had  waited  in  "  the  big  room  "  Christ- 
mas-eves, with  eyes  stretched  yet  sleepy  and 
blinking,  to  see  Santa  Claus  come  down  the 
chimney  with  his  sack  of  dolls  and  things;  aod 
there  had  been  her  young  motherhood. 

No  wonder  the  old,  rambling  log  house,  with 
its  shadowy  rooms  and  bowers,  held  much  of 
her  heart  and  drew  her  dark  eyes,  shining  with 
love,  all  the  way  across  the  stretches  of  wil- 
derness and  trouble  to  revel  in  its  memories. 
She  lingered  with  her  face  toward  it,  untan- 
gling memory's  webs,  and  looked  and  looked, 
seeing  little  else  than  the  darkness,  till  mid- 
night had  come  and  gone. 

Joe  had  been  in  a  deep  sleep  ail  the  while 
till  now,  when  Edna's  gurgling  laugh  without 
waking  her  set  Benny  to  talking  in  his  sleep; 
and  Joe  woke  up,  and,  peeping  under  the  cart- 
cover,  noticed  his  mother  yet  sitting  at  the 
camp-fire,  a  star  now  and  then  gliding  from 


32  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

behind  the  clouds  to  throw  upon  her  a  shim- 
mering mantle,  then  hiding  in  the  clouds  again 
as  the  shadows  thickened  about  her.  He  quiet- 
ly joined  her,  and  told  her  of  Edna's  merry 
laugh  and  Benny's  wild  talk  in  their  sleep,  and 
how  well  he  was  rested  to  renew  the  journey, 
and  how  the  Lord,  he  knew,  would  guide  them 
to  a  safe  home. 

She  made  bright  replies,  for  her  heart  grew 
glad  because  he  was  cheerful  and  full  of  hope. 
So  he  stood  a  long  while  at  her  side,  looking 
whither  she  looked,  silent  when  she  willed, 
talkative  by  spells.  The  mewing  of  the  wild 
cats  and  the  barking  of  the  foxes  down  in 
the  ravine  disturbed  him  no  more  than  the 
chirps  of  the  crickets  at  his  feet,  for  his  young 
heart  was  studying  how  best  to  care  for  his 
mother. 

They  lingered  together  in  the  vigil  of  the 
night,  love's  peace  making  sweet  the  time 
which  hurried  on  and  lingered  not,  when  a 
£§,int  light  shone  in  the  far-away  horizon,  and 
brighter  grew  and  redder  yet.  Then  a  stream 
of  flame  shot  uj)  into  the  clouds  like  many  fiery 


A  Flame  SJiot  up  Info  the  Clouds.  33 

rockets  exploding  together,  and  she  knew  that 
her  old  home  was  destroyed  by  fire. 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  by  Joe's  side  with 
clasped  hands  as  the  fiery  column  painted  it- 
self in  the  far-off  darkness,  scarcely  repress- 
ing a  cry  to  Heaven  for  a  curse  on  the  destroy- 
ers. But  in  the^  moment  she  thought  of  Him 
who  said:  "  When  ye  pray  say,  Forgive  us  our 
trespasses  as  we  forgive  those  who  trespass 
against  us; "  and  she  stretched  down  her 
hands  to  Joe's  brownish  head  as  he  looked  up 
wondering  into  her  face,  and  said:  "God  be 
praised,  my  son!  our  old  home  is  burned  down, 
but  we  are  all  here  safe  under  the  shadow  of 
God's  wings." 

Joe's  fists  were  clinched,  and  his  face  was 
pale  and  hard  like  ice,  and  his  eyes  seemed  to 
be  burning,  so  bright  and  fierce  they  appeared, 
as  she  said,  "  Our  old  home  is  burned  down;  " 
but  as  she  softly  wept  at  his  side  the  expres- 
sion all  changed,  and  he  said:  "  Nev — never 
mind,  mo — mother!  ^ye  will  build  us  another 
by  the  time  father  and  Uncle  Jack  come  back 

from  the  war.     Beiiny  will  help,  I  know." 
3 


31:  Joe:  A  Boy  In  the  War -times. 

The  words  trembled  from  the  boy's  lips  as 
they  fell  upon  her  ear,  but  they  touched  her 
heart  all  the  more  for  that,  and  she  quickly 
repressed  her  tears  for  his  sake.  His  mention 
of  his  Uncle  Jack,  her  twin-brother,  had  car- 
ried her  back  to  times  when  he  was  no  larger 
than  Joe,  and  assumed  to  be  her  protector  in 
every  girlhood  trial.  Till  the  war  broke  out 
his  manhood  had  been  spent  with  her  in  the 
old  home,  whence  he  went  with  her  husband 
to  join  the  Confederate  army.  More  than  two 
years  had  elapsed  since  then,  and  every  time 
she  heard  of  him  he  was  "  knit  to  the  soul "  of 
Captain  Donal  as  Jonathan  to  David — "  loved 
him  as  his  own  soul."  She  could  scarcely 
think  of  one  without  the  image  of  the  other 
appearing;  and  Joe's  words  had  set  her  to 
thinking  of  many  friends  who  had  gathered 
^t  the  old  home  in  the  days  of  peace  for  hunt- 
ing excursions  into  the  mountains.  And  as 
she  thought,  memory  called  her  to  consider 
face  after  face,  till,  pausing  a  moment  at  one, 
she  said  in  her  heart:  "It  is  the  Federal  offi- 
cer who  suppressed  with  a  frown  the  profane 


A  Flame  Shot  iip  Info  the  Clouds.  35 

bush-wliacker,  as  I  stood  in  tlie  door  of  the 
old  home  that  dreary  eve  before  I  left  it. 
Who  is  he?  "Who!  Ha,  it  is  Mr.  Merril, 
from  near  Ivnoxville.  Husband  and  he  were 
like  brothers.  How  could  I  have  failed  to  rec- 
ognize him?  He  was  ever  gentle  and  consid- 
erate of  others,  though  brother  Jack  often 
said  he  was  always  foremost  when  real  danger 
and  hardships  mingled  with  the  sports.  How 
true  it  is  that  all  noble  men  are  not  of  the 
same  mind  about  this  vfar!  I  am  sure  I  shall 
look  with  more  respect  upon  Southern  Fed- 
erals after  this,  since  such  as  he  is  one  of 
them." 

And  she  was  right.  Because  one  does  not 
agree  with  us  in  opinion  is  no  proof  that  he 
is  base  or  evil-minded.  A  just,  good,  brave 
man  may  oppose  a  just,  good,  brave  man,  and 
be  as  true  and  pure  in  so  opposing  as  he  could 
be  were  he  agreeing  with  him.  It  is  only 
when  an  opponent  becomes  corrupt  and  ma- 
lignant that  he  is  vile.  True  there  are  those 
who  are  "  hateful  and  hating  "  simply  because 
another  is  in  the  way  of  their  purposes,  will 


36  Joe:  A  Boy  in  tJie  Wai'-timcs. 

not  be  used  in  their  plans,  and  does  not  agree 
witli  them  as  to  men  and  affairs.  But  they 
are,  ahnost  invariably,  men  of  the  baser  st)rt 
— swine-men,  low  natures,  brave  against  the 
fettered  and  weak. 

Even  a  pure  child  will  feel  disgust  at  such 
evil-hearted  men,  as  Benny  did  when  he  spoke 
in  harsh  words  of  those  who  tortured  his  moth- 
er with  harsh  vrords  and  ways.  It  cannot  be 
claimed  that  he  was  right,  for  Christ  teaches 
the  reverse.  *'  Whatsoever  is  more  tlian  Yea, 
yea,  Nay,  nay,  cometh  of  evil."  Yet  nature's 
self  cries  out  against  ruffians  in  Church  and 
State,  however  well-seeming  they  may  appear, 
and  grace  condemns  and  resists  their  ruffian- 
ism. The  lad  thought  that  such  were  "  fit  for 
cursing,"  not  fit  to  be  prayed  for. 

That  w^as  a  big  toach  of  nature  in  Benny, 
and  bigger  folks  than  he  often  need  the  touch 
divine  not  to  feel  as  he  felt,  and  not  to  speak 
as  he  did;  for  unhappily  many,  rich  and 
poor,  are  shabby  in  manners  and  principles, 
in  peace  and  in  war.  To  forgive  such  is  not 
man-like;  it  is  greater  than  that— it  is  divine. 


A  Flame  Shot  up  Into  the  Clouds.  37 

Mrs.  Donal  more  readily  forgave  than  Benny 
did,  because  she  was  wiser  than  he,  and  had 
learned  the  power  of  the  words  of  Christ,  "Ask, 
and  it  shall  be  given,"  even  to  forgive. 


CHAPTEff  III. 

Falling  in  with  Grateful  Enemies. 

ftLTHOUGH  Mrs.  Donal  slept  but  little 
that  niglit,  slie  was  awake  before  day-break. 
But  soon  the  morning  came.  The  pink  and 
blue  and  white  mixed  with  the  gray  above, 
then  spread  out  everywhere  along  the  sky  till 
in  millions  of  rays  they  fell  together  upon  the 
mountain  and  rolled  down  its  sides,  shimmer- 
ing on  its  trees  and  rocks,  freshening,  lighting 
up  every  thing. 

The  children  rose  at  her  bidding,  bright  and 
rosy,  and,  as  they  sported  with  the  dew-drops 
shining  on  the  leaves,  she  overheard  Joe  tell- 
ing Benny  and  Edna  about  having  seen  the 
old  home  burning  up  in  the  night  while  they 
were  asleep.  As  their  eyes  opened  wider  and 
wider  while  he  described  the  sight,  their  chins 
quivered,  and  they  cried.  He  became  much 
distressed  and  angered  as  tliey  sobbed,  and 
with  slow,  clear  em^jhasis  he  said:  "No  mat- 
(38) 


Falling  in  loith  Grateful  Enemies.  39 

ter  liow  youDg  or  old  I  am  wlieu  we  find  out 
who  set  it  afire,  I'll  kill  liim." 

Her  heart  was  pierced  with  an  unusual  anx- 
iety by  the  words  of  Joe,  and  she  said  to  her- 
self: *'  The  heart-fires  of  the  war  are  more 
dreadful  than  all  its  material  fires;  both  com- 
bined are  inflaming  even  children  with  impla- 
cable rage  and  fierce  purposes  as  to  the  future. 
The  life  is  wretched  that  is  made  up  of  re- 
venges tortured  by  malice.  For  such  a  life 
the  acts  of  marauding  bush-whackers,  faith- 
less to  either  army,  are  preparing  the  boys  of 
this  beautiful  section  of  valleys  and  mount- 
ains." She  had  been  startled  as  much  by  the 
seriousness  of  Joe  as  by  the  threat  itself,  and 
joining  the  earnest  group  she  said  to  him: 
*'The  Lord  is  the  great  Father  of  all.  He 
says,  *  Thou  shalt  not  kill.'  If  your  father  in 
the  war  were  to  send  you  word  not  to  do  a  cer- 
tain thing,  would  you  talk  and  plan  to  do  that 
very  thing  as  soon  as  you  could?" 

"N — no,  ma'am,"  answered  Joe,  "because 
he  wouldn't  like  it." 

"So  is  the  great  Father  above  displeased 


40  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-tiiues, 

with  you,"  she  replied,  "  when  you  plan  and 
promise  to  do  the  very  thing  he  tells  you  not 
to  do.  He  says,  '  Thou  shalt  not  kill,'  and  you 
say,  'I  will  kill.'  I  hope  v/e  shall  never  see 
those  evil  persons  who  have  injured  us,  neither 
while  you  are  a  boy  nor  when  you  get  to  be  a 
man.  Don't  think  of  them.  Leave  them  to 
the  Lord  to  judge  or  to  acquit.  You  are  much 
like  your  Uncle  Jack.  He  sometimes  strikes 
an  evil  blow  before  he  thinks,  and  mourns  over 
it  when  it  is  too  late.  Now,  while  you  are  a 
boy,  wall  in  your  heart  from  malice  and  hasty 
temper.  It  is  horrible  to  shed  a  fellow-creat- 
ure's blood." 

Joe  was  stunned  by  his  mother's  solemnity, 
and  wondered  how  she  knew  so  well  the  re- 
venge he  had  so  surely  determined  to  take, 
young  as  he  was.  But  she  knew  he  was  de- 
scended from  a  hot-headed  race,  whose  threats 
were  not  idle  words,  and  that  the  sooner  a 
wild  impulse  was  forestalled  the  better;  and 
all  the  time  she  had  been  speaking  to  him  his 
young  spirit  parted  with  its  hardness  and  hate 
till  the  air  sung  softer  strains  to  him,  the  sun- 


Falling  in  with  Grateful  Enemies.  41 

shine  seemed  merrier  and  the  birds'  songs 
more  peaceful  than  ever;  and  her  voice  was 
so  sweetened  by  sorrow  that  he  thought, 
"Surely  God  is  in  this  place  listening,"  and 
he  said,  quite  subdued:  "  Mother,  I  will  do  as 
you  have  said  all  my  life,  if  I  can.  So  don't 
be  anxious  any  more,  please.  I'm  a  foolish 
boy  to  think  an'  talk  of  shootin'  folks,  but  I 
do  feel  like  it  when  they  treat  us  so  bad." 

They  were  not  quite  ready  to  journey  from 
the  camp  when  round  the  rock-faced  spur  not 
two  hundred  yards  ahead  of  them  a  company 
of  horsemen  dashed.  They  were  Federals, 
and  were  soon  all  around  them,  prying  into 
the  cart  and  every  nook  of  bushes  and  rocks, 
as  though  in  quest  of  a  Confederate  soldier. 

Mrs.  Donal  stood  grasping  the  side  of  the 
cart,  while  Benny  and  Edna  held  to  her  skirts; 
and  Joe  clung  to  Boone,  who  seemed  deter- 
mined to  bite  the  horses  or  their  riders,  or 
both ;  and  Joe  knew  that  neither  Boone  nor  he 
was  in  good  fighting  trim  about  then. 

The  men  proved  to  be  a  Federal  troop  of 
Kentuckians  reconnoitering,  and  soon  grouped 


42  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

about  the  family  as  the  captain  approached 
Mrs.  Donal,  and  said:  "Madam,  Avhat  has  be- 
come of  the  man  having  care  of  you?  You 
ceitainly  are  not  traveling  alone  with  these 
children  and  so  poor  an  outfit  in  so  Avild  a 
country.     Give  account  of  yourself." 

"  Sir,"  she  answered,  *'  I  am  alone  with  these 
children.  I  am  the  wife  of  Captain  Donal,  of 
the  Confederate  army.  I  was  driven  from 
home  yesterday  by  your  people,  after  they 
had  from  time  to  time  plundered  me  of  many 
things,  and  all  my  stock  save  these  cows, 
which  they  failed  to  get  because  they  had 
wandered  into  a  hidden,  unfrequented  dell. 
And  last  night  from  this  camp  I  saw  my 
home  burned  down." 

"And  where  are  you  going  now?"  he  asked. 

"Southward,"  she  replied,  "until  I  find  my 
people  somewhere,  to  wait  among  them  until 
the  war  is  over." 

"And  where  do  yoar  people  live?  Your 
relatives?" 

"  Not  relatives.  I  mean  Confederate  peo- 
l)le,"  she  said. 


Falling  in  with  Grateful  Enemies.  43 

Here  a  burly  soldier,  with  burning  oaths, 
v/ished  them  all  at  the  bad.  But  the  inter- 
ruption was  unnoticed  save  by  a  quick  gesture 
of  the  officer,  when  the  man  drew  away  to  the 
outskirts  of  the  troop,  and  the  captain  said: 
"  Confederates,  eh  ?  But  defeat  pursues  them 
everywhere.  We  shall  soon  overrun  and  oc- 
cupy the  whole  country." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  he  thought  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  added:  "You  may  be 
shrewdly  misleading  us,  as  women  of  youi 
party  are  apt  in  doing.  With  all  your  seem- 
ing frankness  you  may  be  a  spy  or  a  messen- 
ger with  important  papers.  Hand  to  me  what- 
ever papers  you  have." 

"  I  have  none,"  she  answered. 

"Very  well,"  he  curtly  said;  "you  shall  be 
closely  searched."  And  he  bade  two  soldiers 
to  proceed  with  the  task. 

She  said:  "They  will  find  nothing  of  the 
kind  on  my  person  or  in  the  cart.  I  am  no 
spy;  am  bearing  no  message,  oral  or  written, 
though  if  I  could  I  would  aid  my  people." 
And  thinking  of  the  scout's  medal  and  of  his 


44  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

directions  concerning  it,  she  handed  it  to  him, 
saying:  "But  before  you  enforce  your  order, 
please  look  at  that." 

He  turned  it  about  and  scanned  it,  saying: 
"  AVell,  madam,  what  of  it?  I  know  nothing 
of  it.  It  seems  only  a  worthless  piece  of  bright 
metah" 

Before  she  could  answer,  a  man  in  citizen's 
dress  pressed  forward  and,  examining  the 
medal  eagerly,  whispered  a  fcAV  words  to  the 
officer.  His  face  bore  a  sterner  look  as  he 
said:  "On  your  life,  tell  me  of  this  trinket 
the  truth  quickly— and  the  truth.  Do  you  un- 
derstand? "  And  he  riveted  his  eyes  upon  her 
face. 

*'  My  habit,"  she  answered,  "  is  to  tell  the 
truth,  though  it  appears  you  are  pleased  to 
doubt  it." 

His  face  flushed,  and  he  slightly  bowed, 
saying:  "Alas,  madam!  war  is  a  fiend.  It 
makes  one  ungallant,  but  I  listen  to  you." 

She  narrated  the  facts  already  known  to  the 
reader  concerning  the  trinket. 

"  Describe  the  man  who  gave  you  the  trink- 


Falling  in  with  Grateful  Enemies.  45 

et,"  he  ordered;  and  as  she  obeyed,  the  person 
who  had  scrutinized  the  trinket  and  whispered 
to  the  captain  dismounted  and,  with  three 
others  clad  much  like  him,  came  anxiously- 
near  her  and  watched  every  expression  of  her 
face  and  eyes,  as  if  hunting  for  precious  life. 

She  said:  "He  is  of  average  height,  rather 
slender,  hair  not  red,  yet  reddish,  eyes  blue, 
dress  much  like  that  worn  by  these  persons 
nearest  me,  fair  skin,  face  angular,  no  beard, 
voice  very  distinct — rather  fine  than  coarse — 
a  scar  across  the  upper  forehead  nearly  all  the 
way,  a  few  little  dark  splotches  here  and  there 
upon  it." 

"  His  name? "  he  demanded. 

"I  do  not  know  his  name,"  she  replied. 

Before  she  could  speak  more,  one  of  the 
four  scouts  exclaimed:  "Tell  us,  upon  wom- 
an's troth  to  a  friend  or  foe  that  has  come  be- 
tween her  and  ruin,  is  the  man  you  describe 
realhj  alive?  " 

There  was  one  of  those  awesome  hushes  on 
the  group  which  now  and  then  happens  when 
interest  in  an  answer  is  a  stifling  hope  and 


4G  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

dread;  and,  catching  the  impassioned  feelings 
she  cheerily  said:  "  He  was  alive  and  well  yes- 
terday morning  at  this  hour,  and  I  pray  God 
no  harm  has  happened  to  him  since." 

The  men  looked  wonderingly  into  one  an- 
other's eyes,  and  into  hers  again,  as  the  officer 
said:  "  Madam,  you  trifle  with  ns.  The  man 
you  describe  has  been  dead  three  or  four 
months." 

"As  truly,"  she  earnestly  replied,  "  as  I  pray 
day  and  night  for  my  husband's  life  to  be  pre- 
served, and  for  the  Confederate  cause  in  this 
fierce  w^ar,  all  I  have  said  to  you  is  true — that 
man  was  alive,  and  kind  and  bold  and  strong, 
yesterday  at  this  hour." 

The  scouts  were  convinced,  and  together 
cried:  "  We  believe  she  speaks  the  truth,  com- 
rades.    Strang  is  ]iot  dead,  but  lives." 

The  whole  troop  caught  the  joy  of  the  scouts, 
and,  gathering  as  near  the  cart  as  possible, 
they  astonished  Mrs.  Donal  with  round  after 
round  of  cheering.  Benny  and  Edna  clung 
closer  to  her,  but  Joe  bounded  in  front  of  her, 
and  clubbing  his  whip,  looked  angrily  froir. 


Falling  in  with  Grateful  Enemies.  47 

one  to  another,  which  set  them  to  cheering 
again. 

"Boys,"  said  the  soldier  nearest  him,  "  thar's 
grit  here,  rale  ole  Tennessee  grit— blamed  e£ 
his  left-hand  an't  got  a  rock  in  it,  while  t'other 
grips  his  whipstock." 

They  cheered  the  boy  as  they  drew  away 
from  the  family,  while  the  captain  returned 
to  her  the  medal,  saying:  "Madam,  you  are 
at  liberty  to  move  on  at  your  pleasure.  I 
hope  we  have  not  inexcusably  distressed  you. 
We  thank  you  for  the  assurance  yon  give  us 
that  the  scout  we  thought  was  dead  is  verily 
alive.  He  is  worth  a  wdiole  comi)any  to  the 
Federals." 

The  troop  moved  on  down  the  mountain 
northward,  and  within  a  few  hundred  yards 
were  joined  by  a  slightly-built,  lithe  man, 
around  whom  they  pressed  with  joyful  greet- 
ings, and  the  captain  exclaimed:  "Halloo, 
Strang!  Sight  of  you  is  like  the  joy  of  vic- 
tory. "We  have  just  learned  that  you  were 
living — not  dead,  as  we  had  heard." 

"You   owe  the  joy,"   he  replied,   "not  so 


48  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

much  to  a  little  dash  I  made  into  the  wild- 
wood,  under  difficulties,  as  to  the  good  nurs- 
ing of  my  captor.  Knules,  there,  saw  me  in 
the  enemy's  camp  dying,  as  all  thought;  but  I 
was  pulled  back  to  life  by  the  tireless  care  of 
as  true  a  Eebel  as  ever  warred  against  Fed- 
erals—Captain Donal.  He  seemed  to  think 
that  as  his  bullet  tumbled  me,  his  heart  and 
hand  could  save  me;  and  I  think  they  did.  I 
am  almost  as  hardy  as  ever  — ready  for  any 
venture  to  bring  triumph  to  the  old  flag." 

"  Yon  woman  at  the  cart  next  the  overhang- 
ing rocks,"  said  the  captain,  "  says  she  is 
Captain  Donal's  wife,  and  saw  you  yesterday 
morning." 

*'So  she  did,  so  she  did,"  he  rejoined;  "for 
as  I  was  threading  the  mountains  on  my  er- 
rand I  overheard  a  band  of  local  bush-whack- 
ers,  who  are  a  disgrace  to  the  old  flag,  discuss- 
ing a  plan  to  meanly  annoy  her;  and  as  she 
was  to  be  sent  away  by  the  military  in  a  day 
or  two,  I  warned  lier  to  move  at  once.  I  am 
glad  I  helped  the  dove  to  escape  the  hell- 
kites.     I  hope  you  did  not  molest  Iier." 


Falling  in  icith  Grateful  Enemies.  49 

"But  little,"  he  replied.  "I  think  when 
Knoles  and  his  comrade-scouts  had  recog- 
nized your  medal,  and  believed  her  story  of 
its  gift  to  her  by  you,  they  would  have  fought 
the  whole  troop  in  her  protection.  But  what 
brings  you  into  this  vicinity?  " 

"As  I  am  not  ready  to  be  shot  for  revealing 
secret  orders,"  Strang  answered,  "  I  must  re- 
fer that  query  to  head-quarters;  but  under  cov- 
er, I  heard  from  two  scared  old  men  hurrying 
along  a  trail  the  other  side  of  the  spur  that  at 
least  five  thousand  blue-coats  were  marching 
on  this  side,  and  I  crossed  over  to  see  the  joy- 
ful sight.  The  old  fellows  had  a  'grapevine 
dispatch,'  it  seems;  for  you  are  less  than  the 
number  they  were  'skedaddling'  from,  by  at 
least  forty-nine  hundred,  I  should  say." 

"  Why  not  have  arrested  and  brought  them 
with  you?"  asked  the  captain;  "might  have 
gained  some  information,  or  at  least  some  fun 
from  them." 

"As  well  arrest  death,"  he  answered;  "only 
they  looked  too  old  to  die;  no  young  men  visi- 
ble in  these  parts  nowadays  —  all  in  one  or 


50  Joe:  A  Bnu  in  fhr  War-times. 

the  other  army,  or  dodging  both.  But  what 
occasioned  the  hubbub  in  the  troop  just  now?  " 

"AYhy,"  interposed  the  scout  Knoles,  "we 
thought  you  were  certainly  dead,  and  buried 
without  the  honors  of  war  until  we  met  yon- 
der Mrs.  Donal;  and  when  she  convinced  us 
that  you  were  not  in  Tophet,  but  were  safe 
yet  from  the  devil  and  his  good  friend  Johnny 
Eeb,  we  took  on  a  little—  that's  all.  But  tell  us 
how  you  are  here  instead  of  in  a  Eeb  prison." 

"  One  happy  night,"  he  said,  "  after  I  was  al- 
most as  well  as  ever,  and  was  being  transferred 
to  another  prison — had  been  moved  from  place 
to  i)lace  several  times  before — I  eluded  the 
guard  and  fled  for  the  mountains.  I  made 
good  speed  to  the  general  commanding  our 
forces,  and  was  furloughed  for  twenty  days. 
I  was  not  long  crossing  Kentucky  into  Ohio; 
and  when  I  left  home  two  weeks  ago,  my  wife 
said:  *  Now,  Mai  Strang,  don't  ever  shoot  that 
Captain  Donal.  When  he  is  captured  have 
him  sent  to  the  prison  nearest  our  home,  that 
I  may  see  he  wants  for  nothing.  Do  3^ou  hear, 
Mai?'     'Yes,'  I  said.     'But  what  if  he  won't 


Falling  in  icith  Grateful  Enemies.  51 

be  captured,  and  gets  to  filling  me  with  bul- 
lets again  Avliile  I'm  trying  to  take  liim — what 
then?  '  '  AYhy,  then,  then,'  she  said,  '  why  then 
you  just  walk  away.'  " 

"To  be  plugged  in  the  back  with  minie- 
balls,"  suggested  Knoles;  and  they  were  mer- 
ry at  the  good  wife's  simplicity  concerning 
battles,  though  they  rejoiced  too  at  her  beau- 
tiful gratitude  to  the  enemy  who  had  saved 
her  husband's  life  by  tender  care  of  him 
when  ready  to  perish  with  desperate  wounds. 

And  this  is  strange  and  great — the  heart 
forgets  grave  injuries  in  the  glory  of  tender 
deeds.  That  Ohio  wife  would  not  resentfully 
recall  that  her  husband  had  been  nearly  slain 
by  the  Confederate,  because  the  memory  that 
he  had  been  nursed  back  to  life  by  him  flooded 
her  heart  with  sweetness;  the  gentle  deed  was 
mightier  than  the  harsh  one.  Such  deeds  are 
usually  allied  to  the  best  type  of  courage. 

The  black  cloud,  lit  up  with  lightning  and 
aroar  with  thunder,  is  charming,  and  we  run 
from  hill  to  hill  in  the  rain-flood  to  get  the 
best  view  of  it.     To  stand  upon  a  groaning 


52  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

sliip  far  out  at  sea,  clinging  to  its  rigging,  to 
see  the  clouds  burst  upon  the  deep  and  pour 
upon  billow  and  breaker  their  awful  thunder 
and  whole  horizons  of  lightning,  is  delightful; 
but  more  impressive  still  is  the  peaceful  mount- 
ain arched  by  the  sky,  that  lets  the  storms 
war  about  it  till  they  are  exhausted,  and  stands 
as  restful  afterward  as  before,  nor  scolds  nor 
boasts — only  holds  firm,  softening  climes;  in 
its  depths  costly  gems,  on  its  sides  vast  areas 
of  wood  and  rock,  and  coal  and  iron,  to  bless 
man;  never  enacting  a  fiery  scene  till  a  cor- 
rupt Pompeii  compels  it,  and  endures  and 
waits,  and  hopes  that  Pompeii  will  do  better 
and  live. 

Not  the  violence  of  commotion,  not  the 
threat  of  ruin,  but  the  gentle  ministries  of 
that  which  is  peaceful  and  abiding,  like  the 
courage  of  Christ,  bring  great  blessings  to 
man.  No  wrongs  could  irritate  him,  no  dan- 
gers alarm  him,  and  no  griefs  could  over- 
whelm him.  Tranquil  in  the  midst  of  tu 
mults,  love  was  enthroned  in  his  heart,  and 
presided  over  all  his  actions.     He  uttered  no 


Falling  in  icith  Grateful  Enemies.  53 

words  of  anger,  he  performed  no  deeds  of 
vengeance.  His  was  the  conscious  repose  of 
power,  the  peaceful  quiet  of  virtuous  inno- 
cence. 

The  troop  presently  resumed  their  march, 
disappearing  in  the  dark  gorge  at  the  mount' 
ain's  base.  As  Mrs.  Donal's  nerves  had  been 
tortured  by  the  interview  with  them,  she  tar- 
ried some  minutes  to  grow  quiet  in  the  hush 
that  fell  around  her  as  they  disappeared,  he^ 
fore  renewing  her  journey. 

Het  and  Eed  had  long  concluded  that  all 
the  fuss  meant  nothing,  as  it  brought  them  no 
clover,  and  had  lain  down  by  the  cart-tongue, 
chewing  their  cud.  Boone  went  to  licking 
Joe's  hands,  Avith  a  dab  now  and  then  at  his 
face,  while  Benny  and  Edna  alternately  petted 
their  mother  and  the  cows,  or  gathered  ferns 
and  broad-leaved  grasses  among  the  rocks. 


CHAPTEf^  IV. 
Joe  said,  "On,  Boone,  on!" 

WELL,  cliildren,"  said  Mrs.  Donal,  "the 
sun  is  high  above  the  summit,  so  let's 
begin  the  day's  journey." 

They  were  soon  seated  in  the  cart,  and  at 
Joe's  chick  and  "  waw,  here  "  the  cows  gave  a 
pull  against  the  yoke,  and  away  they  rolled. 
When  they  got  into  smoother  roads,  Benny 
and  Edna  chatted  merrily  of  the  soldiers  and 
horses,  and  of  the  way  Boone  did  when  they 
got  too  close  to  him,  and  Edna  said:  "The 
cussin'  soldiers  is  the  ugliest;  and,  Benny, 
you  cussed  'most  like  'em,  but  they's  the  ugli- 
est," 

That  "  cussed  'most  like  'em  "  arrested  their 
mother's  attention,  and  she  quickly  said :  "  No, 
Edna,  your  brother  didn't  use  bad  words;  he 
behaved  very  nicely." 

"Yes,  mother,"  she  replied,  "Benny  did^  at 

the  house,  when  th(^  Unionists  said  bad  words 
(51) 


Joe  said,  ^^On,  Boone,  otiT'  55 

about  you  and  father,  and  you  were  crying 
after  they  had  gone  away." 

By  this  time  Benny  had  raised  the  cart- 
cover  next  to  him,  and  was  looking  out  very 
intently  at  the  trees,  and  trying  to  get  up  a 
talk  with  Boone  trotting  by  the  cows. 

Smiles  dimpled  his  mother's  cheeks  as  she 
noticed  his  way  about  Edna's  report,  and  she 
regretted  to  believe  that  the  oaths  so  common 
in  the  war  were  tainting  even  the  simple  lan- 
guage and  heart  of  childhood,  and  she  said: 
"  Well,  well,  Benny ;  we  will  forget  those  bad 
men  and  their  vile  words.  I  am  glad  my  lit- 
tle boy  despises  their  ways.  He  will  never 
do  as  they  did,  I  know;  and  I  will  trust  him 
never  to  use  again  the  words  of  the  wicked." 

At  that  saying  he  drew  in  his  head  again 
quickly,  and  said:  *'I  won't,  mother;  I  will 
not  if  I  ca — can  hel — help  it,  but  I  must  help 
brother  Joe." 

*'  How  help  him?  "  she  asked. 

*'  Why,"  he  replied,  "  brother  Joe  said  yis- 
teddy,  when  we  was  yokin'  Het  an'  ole  Red 
to   start   away   from    home,   that    he'd  shoot 


56  J(^', :  A  Boij  i/i  the  War-times. 

that  braggin'  man  jes'  as  soon  as  lie  learned 
how  to  aim  straight  an'  plum  with  a  gun. 
An'  I'll  tote  the  jjowder  an'  shot  fur  him— I 
UL-e  it." 

As  she  hearkened  to  Benny's  glib  prattle, 
Mrs.  Donal  recalled  the  Bible's  words  of  the 
"day  of  perplexity"  because  of  the  "  spoiling 
of  the  daughter  of  my  people."  It  seemed  to 
her  that  the  profane  tempers  of  the  ruffians  of 
the  war  w^ere  spoiling  her  of  her  children — jew- 
els above  price — by  imparting  to  them  venge- 
ful flames,  and  she  said  to  herself:  "  That's  the 
second  man  Joseph,  not  yet  eleven  years  of 
age,  has  seriously  talked  of  killing,  and  Benny 
is  ready  to  join  him  in  the  human  hunt." 

She  could  not  discern  how  best  to  put  out 
the  evil  fires  kindling  in  their  hearts,  molding 
evil  feuds  there  to  blight  their  future,  but  she 
quietly  said:  "Be  like  your  father,  boys,  not 
like  bush-whackers.  He  never  hurts  any  one 
except  to  i)reserve  a  better  life  or  to  overcome 
in  battle  for  his  home  and  country.  When  the 
conflict  ceases,  he  treasures  no  spite,  takes 
no   revenge,  but   is   kind  to   his   foes.      The 


Joe  said,  ^'■On,  Boone,  on!''  57 

road  is  much  smoother  now,  so  drive  ahead. 
AVe  will  make  the  best  journey  we  can  to- 
day." 

The  children  were  cheerful  in  the  instant, 
speaking  to  one  another  of  the  big  hills,  the 
bushy  vales,  and  the  rippling  branches.  Ev- 
ery now  and  then  Boone  stopped  and  looked  at 
them,  wagged  his  tail,  and  gave  two  or  three 
caressing  barks,  then  went  ahead  again  or 
walked  awhile  under  the  cart ;  and  their  moth- 
er sung  songs  to  them  in  her  soft,  low  voice. 

So  they  moved  along  until  lunch-time  came 
and  passed  pleasantly  by  as  they  rested  on  the 
sward  in  the  beech  shade,  till  the  cows  mowed 
with  their  teeth  a  bountiful  dinner  of  weeds 
and  grass,  which  abounded  in  the  nook  where 
they  were  nooning. 

Soon  they  were  traveling  again,  and  about 
four  o'clock,  as  they  were  going  through  a 
swamp  of  tangled  vines,  with  here  and  there 
a  few  large  trees  springing  from  the  bog,  they 
were  halted  on  the  ramshackle  bridge,  which 
spanned  the  oozy  stream,  by  several  despera- 
does who  dashed  upon  the  bridge  from  each 


58  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

end — rifles  hanging  by  straps  to  their  sides, 
revolvers  in  hand. 

Mrs.  Donal  recognized  in  their  leader  the 
abusive  soldier  in  the  scene  Avlien  she  was 
ordered  to  leave  her  home.  Having  learned 
that  Federal  companies  were  safely  scouring 
the  country  along  the  route  she  had  traveled, 
they  had  ventured  to  pursue  her,  hoping  that 
in  the  scattered  state  of  the  Confederates  at 
the  time  her  husband  or  her  brother.  Jack  Bes- 
mer,  had  joined  her,  and  that  they  would  have 
the  credit  of  capturing  or  slaying  him. 

When  their  eager  search  of  the  cart  con- 
vinced them  that  neither  was  present,  they 
were  furious  because  of  their  disappointment, 
and  their  leader  said:  *' We  will  destroy  the 
cart  and  brutes  anyhow,  and  put  the  Rebel 
whelps  and  their  mother  afoot." 

Mrs.  Donal,  who,  wlien  she  g(^t  out  of  the 
cart,  had  stepped  forward  with  the  chiklren  a 
few  feet  on  the  shaky  bridge,  did  not  speak  to 
the  men.  Her  heart  was  quietly  talking  to 
God  in  her  trouble.  Bat  Joe,  wlien  he  saw 
them  mnking  ready  to  destroy  the  team  and 


Joe  said,  ^^On,  Boone,  on!'''  59 

Boone,  said:  *'Yon  are  mean.  You  are  cow- 
ards. Yon  can  fight  poor  beasts;  but  if  father 
and  Uncle  Jack  was  jes'  here,  you  would  run 
like  foxes  to  your  dens." 

As  they  flashed  their  eyes  contemptuously 
upon  the  trim,  quivering,  pale  lad,  they  saw 
in  his  eyes  and  posture  the  Jack  Besmer  of 
their  boyhood  days,  and  they  winced  at  his 
taunt  and  the  memory  of  the  defiant  spirit  of 
the  boy's  race.  And  as  one  of  them  poised 
his  revolver  to  shoot  Boone,  Joe  said:  "On, 
Boone,  on! " 

The  words  were  electric  to  Boone,  for  he 
leaped  like  a  flash  upon  his  opponent  and  tore 
him  down,  receiving  but  a  slight  wound  in  the 
contest.  And  in  the  moment  their  leader 
dropped  as  though  dead,  and  the  man  next  to 
him  stumbled  and  fell  from  the  bridge,  as  tv»^o 
rifles  cracked  from  a  fallen  tree -top  to  their 
left,  and  they  fled  into  the  jungles,  the  Avound- 
ed  making  what  speed  they  could  thither. 

Mrs.  Donal,  though  terrified,  knew  at  once 
the  best  way,  and,  hurrying  with  the  children 
into  the  cart,  bade  Joe  drive  forward.     Nor 


60  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

did  she  halt  when  several  shots  Avere  ex- 
changed in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge,  followed 
by  cries  of  pain  in  the  direction  the  bush- 
whackers had  taken.  Not  a  sound  had  been 
heard  from  the  rescuing  party  save  the  few 
ringing  reports  of  their  rifles;  and  the  family 
hurried  on. 

Justin,  a  Rebel  scout,  had  agreed  to  meet 
old  Tim  Fortson  that  afternoon,  living  a  few 
miles  farther  south,  on  a  trail  across  the  crag- 
ged  hills  which  jutted  against  the  stream  at 
that  point.  Having  heard,  as  they  conferred, 
the  rattle  of  the  vehicle  upon  the  rocks  as  it 
descended  into  the  swamp,  and  aware  that  the 
country  above  had  been  open  a  day  or  two  to 
raiders  from  either  army,  they  had  sheltered 
near  the  bridge  to  observe  the  character  of  the 
vehicle  and  its  company.  Their  precautions 
were  fortunate,  for  they  did  not  see  that  the 
bridge  was  ambushed  until  the  bush-whackers 
made  their  dash  upon  it. 

Justin's  first  whispered  exclamation,  as  the 
family  got  out  of  the  cart,  was:  "My  God, 
Tim!  it's  Cai)tain  Donal's  family." 


Joe  said,  ^^On,  Boone,  on!''  Gl 

Each  moment  after  that  trembled  with  death 
to  some  one,  for  they  trained  their  rifles  upon 
the  eagerest  ruffians.  The  pointing  of  revolv- 
ers to  the  beasts  and  Joe's  ringing  words, 
"On,  Boone,  on!"  were  too  much  for  their 
fingers — triggers  were  touched  in  the  instant, 
ard  the  bullets  whirred  to  their  mark. 

After  making  sure  that  the  family  were  not 
farther  pursued,  they  ventured  to  their  horses 
wdiicli  had  been  left  among  the  knobs  in  charge 
of  Colonel  Fortson's  negro,  Phil,  who  was  a 
sort  of  boss  of  the  plantation,  including  his 
master.  Their  horses  were  safe,  but  Phil  and 
his  mule  w^ere  invisible. 

"Halloo,  Tim;  what's  become  of  old  Phil?" 
asked  Justin. 

"  The  devil  is  likeliest  to  answ^er  that,"  re- 
plied Fortson.  "He's  on  a  'conjuring  raid' 
of  his  own  I  suppose,  as  of  late  he  calls  his 
disappearances.  He'll  not  keep  us  long  wait- 
ing, however.  He's  true  to  me  as  magnet  to 
pole,  and  has  been  from  childhood;  and  is  the 
veriest  Rebel  in  Tennessee." 

"  Yes,"  said  Justin,  "  he's  the  life  of    the 


02  Jop :  A  Boy  in  Ike  W<ir -times. 

regiment  when  he  is  with  the  army,  'lookin' 
arter  clat  boy,  Mas  Ned,'  as  he  says.  But  I 
must  be  away  soon — wish  he  were  here." 

But  a  half-hour  had  elapsed  ere  Phil  came 
iu  sight  along  the  knob  northward,  and  dis- 
mounted near  them  from  his  panting  mule. 

"Well?  "  said  Colonel  Fortson. 

"  Yes,  sah,"  answered  Phil  with  slow  em- 
phasis. "  I's  abeen  arter  'em  —  skelped  de 
maddest  one  wid  a  bullet  Dem  white  trash 
skeered  fur  true,  an'  some  on  'em  bad  hurt 
dis  time,  Mas  Tim." 

"  "What  do  you  mean?  "  queried  his  master. 

"I  watched  from  de  pint  dem  rapscallions 
you  an'  Masser  Justin  shoot  ermong  at  de 
bridge  as  dey  turned  on  to  de  hills  outer  de 
ma'sh,  an'  'sued  'em  sah,  an'  saunt  'em  two 
bullets  ter  pay  'em  fur  shootin'  arter  you  when 
dey  dodged  inter  de  bog.  I  tells  you  dey's  a 
trabelin'  now,  shore,  Mas  Tim." 

"You  great  fool!  they  will  hang  you  some 
day." 

"Dey  no  see  me,  sah;  I  kept  close  bchint 
de  clay-root,"  he  retorted. 


Joe  said,  ^^On,  Boone,  on!''  63 

"  You  say  you  shot  at  them?  "  said  Colonel 
Fortsou. 

"  Tobershore,  sah,"  he  replied;  " 'bleeged 
ter,  Mas  Tim.  AVhat  I  gwiiie  say  ter  Miss 
Kiali  when  she  ax  me  ef  I  tuck  good  keer  o' 
you  dis  trip,  ef  I  let's  'em  git  away  widout 
havin'  a  han'  in  de  fight?  She  no  trus'  you 
wid  me  no  more." 

"  How  do  you  know  you  *  skelped '  one 
of  them,  as  you  call  it?  Your  old  musket 
looks  rusty  enough  to  miss  a  hill,  let  alone  a 
man." 

"  Mighty  true  gun,  Mas  Tim,  mighty  true," 
he  answered.  *'  Clean  'em  good  larse  night — 
fire  plum,  sah;  an'  one  on  'em  clap  his  han' 
ter  his  head  when  I  pull  de  trigger,  an'  spur 
erlong  faster  down  de  hollow.  I  turns  dar 
an'  come  back  in  a  hurry,  fur  I  feared  you  git 
mad  a-waitin'." 

The  scout  and  Colonel  Fortson  exchanged 
glances,  and  Phil  caught  to  one  ear  of  his 
mule,  and,  rubbing  him  down  with  a  pine- 
cone,  muttered  to  him:  "Whar  fur  you  puifs 
so.  Kit?     You  nebber  trabel  no  faster  den  m^ 


64  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

ober  dem  hills.  I's  not  a  blowin'  none,  an' 
yuze  j'ounger  den  me  some,  yit." 

Old  Phil  seemed  oblivious  of  the  fact  that 
he  had  not  "toted"  the  mule  over  the  hills, 
but  that  the  male  had  carried  him  fleetly  from 
knob  to  knob.  They  had  known  each  other 
for  twenty-five  years,  and  seemed  on  the  best 
of  terms  till  he  pressed  the  pine-cone  upon 
his  flank,  when  a  thud  was  heard,  and  a  scuf- 
fling among  the  pebbles;  and  when  the  scout 
and  his  friend  Tim  looked  around,  Phil  was 
picking  himself  up  off  the  ground  and  catch- 
ing his  breath  the  best  he  could. 

"  Dah,  now,"  he  said,  "  dah,  now.  Little  Tim 
teacht  ole  Kit  dat  kick  trie'.  I's  bin  a-telliu' 
you,  Mas  Tim,  you  has  ter  lick  dat  boy — he's 
done  spile  dat  mule,  a-prankin'  wdd  him." 

*' That's  the  way  with  you,  Phil,"  replied 
his  master,  repressing  a  burst  of  merriment. 
"  You  put  Satan  in  things  yourself,  and  when 
he  breaks  out  on  you,  j'ou  blame  others.  I 
have  sqpn  you  any  day,  since  you  got  home 
from  the  army,  tickling  your  mule's  flank 
to   have    a   kicking   show    for   Tim   and    the 


Joe  said,  '^Oti,  Boone,  on!  65 

little  negroes.  What  did  you  do  to  Kit  any- 
how?" 

"  Nuddin'  at  all,  sah,  nuddin'.  I  was  jes'  a 
curry'n'  'im  wid  dat  pine-bur  mighty  saft, 
sah — mighty  saft;  an'  fust  I  knowed  I  was  a 
buttin'  de  bottom  ob  de  gully.  You  needn't 
snort  at  me,  Kit;  I  gits  you  fur  dat  'fore 
long." 

After  some  parting  words  with  the  scout, 
Colonel  Fortson  rode  homeward,  Phil  follow- 
ing in  his  wake  and  contenting  himself  with 
a  few  words  of  pragmatic  caution  to  him  as  he 
jogged  on.  He  had  barely  time  to  narrate  to 
his  wife  the  afternoon  incident,  and  to  arrange 
for  little  Tim,  his  son,  to  meet  Mrs.  Donal  on 
the  highway  and  conduct  her  to  the  house,  ere 
the  scout  approached  the  barn,  and  sent  Phil 
to  notify  liim  to  come  thither. 

The  scout's  story  was  soon  told.     He  had 

come  upon   a  small  band  of   bush-whackers 

lying  in  wait  among  the  hills  near  the  homes 

of  a  few  aged  well-to-do  mountaineers,  and, 

believing   they   intended   mischief,   proposed 

that   he   should  aid  him   to  foil  them.      He 
5 


GO  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

readily  consented,  and  accordingly  informed 
his  wife  that  he  might  be  detained  on  an  er- 
rand until  midnight. 

As  the  interlying  spurs  were  mostly  trail- 
less,  they  declined  to  take  horses,  and  set  out 
afoot  in  the  dusk,  but  not  without  Phil's  es- 
pionage. 


CHAPTEi:^  V. 

The  Refugees  Safe  Among  Friends. 

MRS.  DONAL  and  the  children  were  flur- 
ried,  yet  silent,  for  many  minutes  after 
they  had  left  the  bridge  where  the  fray  hap- 
pened. On  and  on  they  moved,  over  rock  and 
hill  and  splashy  branch,  fast  as  Het  and  Red 
could  pull  the  cart,  Boone  sniffing  here  and 
there,  and  every  once  in  awhile  looking  from 
the  edge  of  the  woods  up  into  their  faces  as 
though  trying  to  say,  "  ^Ye  are  all  safe,  roll 
ahead." 

And  on  they  went  till  the  san  fell  over  the 
ridge  west  of  them,  and  the  horizon  was  red 
and  low,  and  the  birds  fluttered  to  roost.  And 
all  the  way  they  wondered  who  had  rescued 
them,  and  could  see  the  man  weltering  in 
blood  where  he  fell  on  the  bridge,  and  the 
man  with  his  shattered  arm  tumbling  into 
the  creek,  and  the  one  Boone  mangled,  and 
the  rest  of  them  that  dashed  for  the  thicket 

when  the  rifles  cracked. 

(67) 


68  Joe:  A  Boy  In  the  War-tuucs. 

They  knew  not  whether  to  camp  or  -what  to 
do,  but  drove  on  till  the  owls  hooted  and  the 
darkness  thicker  grew  about  them;  and  the 
children,  scared  by  the  night,  sobbed,  think- 
ing of  the  fearful  things  they  had  seen  since 
they  had  been  driven  out  from  home;  and  the 
mother's  heart  too  was  breaking  down  under 
its  burdens  of  anxious  fears  and  cares. 

As  they  were  wearily  climbing  a  long  hill, 
in  the  semi-darkness,  they  heard  some  one 
merrily  whistling  far  up  among  the  soughing 
trees;  and  wdien  they  got  to  the  top,  a  boy  a 
little  larger  than  Joe  came  forward  a  few 
steps,  hat  in  hand,  and  asked:  '*'  Please,  ma'am, 
is  this  Mrs.  Donal?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied. 

"  My  father,  Colonel  Tim  Fortson,"  he  said, 
"  has  sent  me  to  meet  you.  He  says  he  knows 
Captain  Donal  and  your  brother.  Jack  Bes- 
mer,  and  loves  tliem  like  brothers,  and  that 
you  must  please  turn  into  this  cross-road,  and 
rest  with  us  as  long  as  you  will.  The  house 
is  but  a  short  w^ay  off,  and  mother  is  at  the 
door  watching  down  the  road  for  you.     Father 


The  Refugees  Safe  Amorig  Friends.  69 

says  I  bad  best  drive  if  you  will  let  ir>e,  as 
I  know  the  road  so  well.  I  am  little  Tim 
Fortson." 

One  gushing  sob,  and  the  long-pent  tears 
eased  her  heart  of  its  overstrain,  and  she  said: 
"I  thank  you  for  the  kind  message,  and  for 
the  nice  way  you  have  told  it  to  me.  Joseph 
can  drive,  and  follow  you  as  you  shall  guide." 

But  Tim  had  too  completely  won  Joe's  heart 
for  that,  and  he  said:  "Jump  uj)  here  by  me, 
Tim,  and  we'll  drive  together." 

They  moved  briskly  toward  the  house,  and 
as  they  reached  the  yard  gate  a  winsome  voice 
said:  "Thank  God,  Mrs.  Donal,  you  are  safe 
among  friends !  Get  right  out,  child,  and  come 
in  —  been  w^aiting  for  you,  and  w-a-i-t-ing." 
And  she  put  her  hands  under  the  cart-cover 
and  drew  Mrs.  Donal  to  her  and  kissed  her, 
and  helped  her  to  alight,  and  let  her  sob  upon 
her  shoulders  until  Joe  and  little  Tim  had  as- 
sisted Edna  and  Benny  to  the  ground,  when 
they  all  entered  the  house  together.  Old  Phil 
soon  conveyed  all  articles  from  the  cart  to  the 
house,  and  sheltered  and  fed  the  cattle. 


70  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

"Aunt  Elfy,"  the  darky  housekeeper,  with 
a  spotted  handkerchief  knotted  about  her  head, 
her  checkered  apron  turned  up  at  one  corner 
like  Freemasons  wear  theirs  sometimes,  had 
met  them  at  the  gate.  Tenderly  bearing  Edna 
in  her  arms  to  the  sitting-room,  and  seating 
her  nicely  before  the  coals  of  fire  kept  alive 
to  take  the  chill  from  the  September  night- 
air,  she  vanished  after  saying  to  the  sleepy 
child:  "  You's  tired  ter  def,  honey,  an'  purty 
as  de  star.  You  res'  a  little — I  has  supper  fur 
you  quick  as  er  wink." 

Mrs.  Fortson  soon  led  her  guests  to  the  din- 
ing -  room,  where  an  inviting  supper  greeted 
them,  Aunt  Elfy  vying  with  her  mistress  to 
make  every  moment  a  pleasant  one  by  a  kind 
of  magic  attention  to  each  guest  known  only 
to  an  old  family  servant. 

An  hour  later  Aunt  Elfy  had  dismissed  her- 
self, for  she  entered  the  sitting-room  as  much 
at  ease  as  a  princess,  yet  as  really  subject  to 
her  mistress  as  her  own  thoughts  were  to  her- 
self, and  said:  "Miss  Eiah,  I's  gwine  ter  de 
cabin  now.     Mas  Tim's  supper  fixed  jes'  right 


The  Refugees  Safe  Among  Friends.         71 

at  de  fire-place  ef  you  doesn't  'sturb  it.  It 
oughter  be  kept  warm  fur  him;  dat's  de  way 
he  likes  it.  Ef  I  hears  him  comin'  I'll  come 
fix  it  on  de  table  all  right.  Ole  Phil  done  turn 
foolish  as  master  is  'bout  dis  wah;  he's  alius 
gone  dese  nights;  an't  seen  him  sence  he  put 
de  wehicle  away.  Have  ter  set  up  fur  him. 
Ef  he  doan  fine  his  supper  jes'  ter  suit  him,  he 
fusses  untel  I's  'mos'  crazy.  I  thinks,  missis, 
Phil  done  kill  somebody  in  de  wah,  an'  de 
ghost  a-hauntin'  him.  He's  like  doctor's  horse 
■ — no  quiet,  'specially  in  de  night-time.  He 
alius  usin'  cuss  words  'bout  de  Yankees,  an' 
says  he  gwine  ter  de  army  agin  an'  take  keer  o' 
Mas  Ned,  fur  he  got  no  sense  'bout  cookin' 
ner  nothin';  and  dat's  de  trufe  'bout  Mas  Ned, 
Miss  Mariah." 

"  Phil  has  killed  no  one,  Elfy,"  said  her 
mistress.  "He  is  restless  because  he  misses 
Ned  and  the  stir  of  the  army,  and  so  little  to 
do  at  home.  He  says  he  was  half  starved  in 
the  army.     Doesn't  he  get  enough  to  eat?" 

*' Nuff  ter  eat!"  she  exclaimed.  "He  gits 
more'n  master  does,  an'  de  best.     'Fore  de 


72  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times, 

Lord,  Miss  Mariah,  you  an'  Mas  Tim  clone 
spile  Phil  more'n  twenty  years  an'  up'ardsi 
I  wishes  you'd  quit  it  ef  I  has  ter  live  wid 
him.  Sence  de  wall  come  he's  wussen  ever, 
an'  de  nifjcjers  all  say  so  too.  Phil  would  bo 
a  heap  better  ef  it  wasn't  fur  little  Tim,"  in- 
dicating the  boy  that  had  guided  Mrs.  Donal 
to  the  house.  "He's  alius  hangiu'  roun'  him 
an'  totin'  things  outen  the  big  house  fur  him. 
You  an't  raisin'  dat  boy  right  nohow,  Miss 
Mariah.  •  You  was  heap  stricter  wid  Mas  Ned, 
an'  dat's  de  reasin  he's  de  best.  I  done  nuss 
'em  bofe^I  know  'em.  Little  Tim,  dere,  heap 
de  wuss." 

"Well,  well,  Elfy,"  she  replied;  "we'll  do 
the  best  we  can.  But  when  Ned's  at  home, 
you  are  nearly  always  fussing  at  him  and  tak- 
ing up  for  Tim.  And  if  Ned  would  believe 
you,  he  would  think  himself  an  imp.  Now 
he's  gone  wdiere  dangers  throng  him,  you  are 
forever  telling  me  how  good  he  is  and  how 
had  Tim  is." 

Elfy  smiled  at  the  last  words,  for  in  their 
light  she  realized  her  absurdity,  and  she  hied 


The  Refugees  Safe  Among  Friends.  73 

to  lier  cabin,  thinking  how  true  it  was  that  she 
didn't  know  which  she  loved  and  fussed  at 
more — Ned  or  Tim. 

Wlien  Phil  got  to  the  cabin  about  mid- 
night, he  fouud  Elfy  waiting  for  him,  nod- 
ding in  her  chair,  his  supper  nicely  warm  and 
plentiful.  She  had  brought  it  from  *'  the  big 
house,"  as  she  called  the  family  residence, 
and  it  was  the  same  in  kind,  only  more  plen- 
tiful than  that  she  had  "  fixed  jes'  right  at  de 
fire-place  "  for  her  master.  He  came  rustling 
in,  and  said:  "Nigger,  what  you  sleep  fur? 
Doan  you  know  I's  out  ter  night  an'  no  come 
in  yit?  I's  hongry  too;  dis  all  de  vittles 
you's  got  for  me?  " 

"It's  a  plenty,"  she  answered,  "an'  anuff 
fur  two  more  common  niggers  better'n  you. 
You  call  me  nigger  agin  I  breaks  dat  woolly 
head.  Whar  you  bin  trampoozin'  ter  ebber 
sence  Capen  Donal's  folks  come,  Phil?" 

"You  mine  your  'fairs,"  he  said,  curtly; 
"me  an'  Mas  Tim  tek  good  keer  o'  ourn. 
You  better  look  good  arter  dat  lady  at  de  big 
house,  I  tell  you  dat.     Masser  Capen  hears 


74  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

you  doaii,  lie  send  squad  arter  you— mek  you 
tiuk  de  debbil  got  you  'fore  dey  done  wid 
you." 

*'I  knows  folks  wlien  I  sees  'em,"  she  re- 
torted, "  an'  I  an't  ast  you  'boat  no  Capeu 
an'  no  squad.  I  wanter  know  whey  you  bin, 
an'  what  you  bin  a-doin'  out  so  late  ternight 
You  got  to  tell  me  too  'fore  you  sleeps." 

"Ef  I  tells  you,  Elfy,"  he  said,  "  you's 
gwine  ter  tell  it  all  ober  ter  missis,  shore,  an* 
de  oder  niggers  too." 

"  No,"  she  coaxed,  "  I  keep  it  clost  fur  true 
^jes'  me  an'  you  knows  it." 

"I  Jes'  know,"  he  said,  in  a  spiteful,  trust- 
ing tone,  "  ef  I  tells  you  missis  done  know  all 
'bout  it  'fore  breakf us.  You  tinks  you  gwine 
die  right  away  ef  you  doan  'peat  ter  her  eb- 
bry  ting  you  hears  an'  more  'sides;  but  I 
gwine  tnis'  you  once  more^  an'  tell  you.  Me 
an'  jNIas  Tim  bin  carryin'  'visions  an'  med- 
'cines  ter  dom  poor  folks  away  below  here 
whose  husban's  in  de  Rebel  army.  Now  you 
knows,  an'  go  'rnun'  a-tellin'  it,  an'  have  dem 
Unionists  a  shootin'  us  fur  it.     Now  lemme 


The  Refugees  Safe  Among  Friends.         75 

lone — I's  sleepy.  But  ef  cbber  you  tells  it, 
you  nebber  gits  de  trufe  outen  dis  nigger  no 
mo'." 

And  she  believed  it,  and  they  had  a  sleepy, 
peaceful  night  until  day-break;  but  she  had 
told  her  mistress  all,  and  more  than  Phil  had 
told  her,  before  breakfast;  and  her  mistress 
didn't  tell  her  it  was  a  thorough  lie,  though 
she  knew  it  was,  as  you  will  see  before  you 
read  much  farther. 


CH^PTEf}  VI. 
A  New  Experience  to  Joe. 

AFTEE  Aunt  Elfy  "dismissed  lierself " 
from  the  sitting-room,  the  children  were 
soon  sleeping,  but  Mrs.  Donal  lingered  with 
her  hostess  conversing  till  near  midnight. 
The  sense  of  comfort  and  safety  was  so  hap- 
py a  contrast  to  the  terrifying  scenes  of  the 
day  that  weariness  and  dread  gave  place  to 
delightful  sensations  and  emotions.  Though 
wakeful  as  she,  her  hostess  seemed  at  times 
dreamy,  then  quivering  with  intentness  as 
though  waiting  and  listening  with  apprehen- 
sion for  some  one  without.  PiTsently  she 
said:  "Tim  tarries  later  than  he  said.  He 
has  been  away,  too,  nearly  all  the  day.  He 
was  here  a  few  minutes  before  you  came,  and 
told  me  all  that  had  happened  to  you  the  last 
few  days,  and  especially  about  the  affray  at  the 
crazy  bridge  in  the  swamj),  as  you  came  along. 
He  and  Justin,  a  Eebel  scout,  happened  at  the 
(76) 


A  New  Experience  to  Joe,  77 

time  to  be  together  on  the  knob  over  against 
the  bridge,  and  fortunately  saw  your  dilemma 
in  time  to  interfere.  He  says  you  acted  spir- 
itedly and  for  the  best  all  through  it,  and  that 
Joe  is  a  gallant  lad." 

"  O,"  said  Mrs.  Donal,  "I  am  so  glad  you 
have  mentioned  my  rescuers!  I  need  not  at- 
tempt to  express  my  gratitude  to  them.  Your 
husband  I  shall  soon  know,  I  hope.  Justin  is 
my  cousin.  He  is  a  trained  hunter.  Every 
chasm  and  summit  for  a  hundred  miles  along 
the  mountain  is  familiar  to  him.  The  wilds 
are  his  delight,  and  many  a  sheltering  recess 
is  known  to  him  whose  approach  is  hidden  to 
all  others.  Nothing  daunts  him,  and  though 
cautious  and  merciful,  he  is  at  times  impetu- 
ous as  a  rock  leaping  down  the  peak.  Happy 
the  helpless  ones  about  whose  path  chance  or 
a  good  providence  brings  him." 

"  So  Tim  speaks  of  him,"  Mrs.  Fortson  re- 
plied; and,  pausing  a  few  moments  with  a  dash 
of  uneasiness  on  her  face,  she  added:  "Some- 
thing unusual  keeps  Tim  out  late  to-night,  but 
I  am  getting  used  to  such  Avays  now.     He  says 


TS-'  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-tiiiies. 

he  hopes  you  will  not  journey  to-morrow,  if  at 
all;  that  the  road  will  be  clearer  of  raiders  iu 
a  few  days." 

An  hour  passed  in  brief  colloquies  or  long 
spaces  of  silence,  for  each  lady  seemed  more 
inclined  to  thought  than  to  conversation.  The 
one  dreamed  again  and  again  through  the 
mazes  of  her  recent  experiences,  and  the  other 
groped,  as  she  well  might,  along  the  drear 
path  of  evil  foreboding;  for  the  enemy's  lines 
would  probably  encircle  her  home  and  the 
family  be  in  flight  even  if  her  husband  es- 
caped with  his  life.  Bat  presently  she  re- 
called her  guest  to  the  present  by  a  whispered 
"S-h,  s-h!"  and  they  hearkened  intently  to 
the  footsteps  approaching  the  house.  A  soft 
patter,  like  rain-drops  falling,  called  her  to 
the  darkened  window,  whence  she  in  a  mo- 
ment returned  to  ^Mrs.  Donal's  side  smiling, 
and  said:  "It  is  Tim.  You  shall  see  him 
after  he  sups.  Of  late  we  lock  up  safely  as 
possible  of  nights,  and  he  signals  me  before 
he  applies  the  night-key  so  as  not  to  startle 
me.     He  is  old  now,  but  overr(\idy,  I  tell  him, 


A  Neio  Experience  to  Joe.  79 

for  a  conflict  with  bush-whackers.  He  says 
they  are  murderous,  drunken  robbers,  who 
will  die  by  plague  or  violence  ere  the  war 
ends.  I  hope  he  is  right,  for  then  there  will 
be  fewer  grudges  left  to  personal  settlement 
when  peace  shall  have  come." 

By  this  time  Colonel  Fortson  had  supped 
and  entered  the  room,  and  his  kindly  words 
and  ways  made  them  restful,  and  peaceful  as 
well.  He  no  more  alluded  to  the  scene  of  the 
afternoon's  foray  than  if  it  had  never  happened, 
but  in  response  to  his  wife's  request,  gave  an 
account  of  his  night's  errand,  saying:  "Justin 
and  I  have  been  *in  hunt  of  a  band  of  ruffians 
claiming  to  be  Federals.  They  rather  are 
desperadoes,  under  no  orders  except  their  own 
wicked  instincts — beasts  of  prey.  We  came 
upon  them  at  ten  o'clock  camped  in  a  seques- 
tered defile.  I  had  told  Phil  on  no  account  to 
leave  home  to-night,  but  he  had  followed  us 
secretly,  and  while  we  were  planning  an  at- 
tack upon  the  ruffians'  camp  he  glided  to  our 
side.  He  gave  me  no  time  to  scold  him,  but 
said:  'Mas  Tim,  Miss   Eiah  mighty  anxious 


80  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

'bout  you,  sail,  an'  I  tough t  I  better  come 
arter  you  to  tek  keer  o'  you.  You  gittiu'  too 
ole  anyhow,  Mas  Tim,  ter  be  a  ventuisomin' 
erroun'  dis  way.  De  night-a'r  nips  you  'fore 
you  knows  it.  Masser  Justin,  he  loss  you  in 
de  woods — nigger  know  de  way  out  by  do 
star.' 

*'  What  was  I  to  reply  to  such  an  argument? 
but  I  said:  'Phil,  you  sack  of  soot!  Your 
Miss  Maria  has  said  not  a  word  to  you  con- 
cerning me;  and  here  you  are,  haunting  my 
footsteps  in  the  dark  among  the  spurs  like  an 
imp  of  Satan.' 

" '  Can't  he'p  it  now,  can't  he'p  it  now,  sah,' 
he  replied;  'Miss  Iliah  safe,  and  nuddin' 
hurt  her,  sah;  de  night-a'r  nips  you.  I  hears 
you  talk  ter  Masser  Justin,  a-liint  de  hoss-lot, 
erbout  dem  yonder  'rauders — I  follow  you. 
Musket  mighty  clar  fire,  sah — brung  'em  er- 
long.' 

"  There  were  but  five  '  'rauders '  visible,  as 
Phil  calls  them.  They  had  arrested  old  neigh- 
bor Jillet  and  those  two  noted  old  Unionists, 
McGrat  and  Center.     Thoy  had  bound  them. 


A  New  Exijerienze  to  Joe.  81 

stripped  them  to  the  waict,  and  conveuiently 
placed  a  supply  of  heavy  hickory  withes. 

"Jillet  seemed  to  accept  his  fate  as  a  thing 
of  course.  The  profane  abuse  they  heaped 
upon  him  provoked  no  denial  that  he  was  a 
thorough  Eebel.  It  was  the  reverse  with  Mc- 
Grat  and  Center.  They  averred  their  Union- 
ism; that  each  had  sons  In  the  Federal  army, 
and  sent  supplies  to  that  army  every  oppor- 
tunity; were  true  to  the  old  flag,  and  with- 
out sympathy  with  the  Secessionists — all  of 
which  is  true.  They  are  as  loyal  Federals  as 
brave  old  hearts  can  be,  no  matter  in  what 
section  of  the  country  they  beat.  This  the 
bush-whackers  knew;  bub  thinking  they  had 
much  money  hid  away,  (hey  chose  to  class 
them  as  '  Eebels  dyed  in  the  wool,'  and  were 
proceeding  to  carry  out  their  threats  to  beat 
them  to  death  with  the  withes,  or  until  they 
would  guide  them  to  the  1  Iding-places  of  the 
treasure. 

"  It  was  a  pitiable,  angering  sight — the  shriv- 
eled, good,  honest  old  men,  in  the  clutches  of 
those  incarnate  fiends.  Th 3  twiggy  brush  was 
G 


82  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

thick  between  them  and  us,  or  we  should  have 
had  a  good  view  of  them  in  the  glare  of  their 
camp-fire.  We  overshot  them  likely,  for  we 
■feared  lest  we  should  injure  the  old  prisoners, 
and  our  aim  was  guess-work  in  the  starlight, 
even  with  their  camp-fire  to  aid  us.  At  the 
crack  of  our  rifles  they  fled  to  the  cover, 
amidst  yells  and  confusion;  and  w^e  heard  the 
rush  of  a  sentinel  toward  them  from  either 
side,  and  the  rapid  tramp  of  their  horses  down 
the  trail  they  had  sentineled  assured  us  of 
their  escape.  We  soon  made  sure  of  the  last 
fact  by  carefully  scouting,  when  we  returned 
to  release  the  old  men. 

"  Only  Justin  showed  himself  to  them,  and 
he  disguised  by  gait  and  manner  and  voice. 
AVhen  he  clipped  the  bonds  of  the  old  mount- 
aineers they  seized  and  tugged  him  about  in 
an  ecstasy  of  gratitude.  Old  McGrat  said,  in 
his  blunt  Scotch  way:  *Thar  was  more  on  ye, 
my  mon.  They  culd  kom  to  the  light  wi'  ye 
safely,  lad.  Not  a  chiel,  not  a  lass,  in  the 
peaks  but  wad  gie  them  warnin',  an'  shelter 
them  awfter  this.     Hey,  hey!     Ye,  tharaways 


A  New  Experience  to  Joe.  83 

in  the  lairs  o'  brush  an'  rocks,  we  are  friends 
to  ye  forever.  Kom  awa'  to  us,  kom  awa'  wi' 
us,  lads!  We  must  know  ye.  Ye  are  Rebels 
nae  doubt,  but  true  friends  for  a'  that.' 

"The  old  men  were  bewildered  and  knew 
not  whither  to  turn  for  their  homes,  but  Jus- 
tin piloted  them  to  their  gates,  followed  by 
Phil  and  myself  unseen;  and  after  watching 
awhile  to  see  if  the  bush-whackers  returned, 
we  strode  across  the  knobs  homeward." 

"Is  Justin  here?"  asked  Mrs.  Donal. 

"No,"  he  answered;  "Justin  seldom  sleeps 
beneath  a  roof  nowadays.  His  haversack  was 
well  filled  with  provisions  before  we  started 
out  to-night,  and  we  had  left  the  homes  of  the 
old  mountaineers  less  than  a  mile  when  he 
turned  northward.  He  bade  me  give  to  you 
his  cousinly  greeting,  and  to  tell  Joe  to  kiss 
Boone  for  him." 

"  The  children  will  all  do  that,  I  am  sure," 
interposed  Mrs.  Donal,  smiling,  "when  they 
hear  his  message.  Is  he  well?  and  has  he 
tidings  from  James,  my  husband,  and  brother 
Jack?" 


84  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

"He  is  solid  as  a  bullet,"  said  the  Colonel, 
"  and  in  the  best  of  healtli.  He  lias  noth- 
ing certain  to  report  of  Captain  Donal  and  my 
good  friend  Jack,  except  that  little  more  than 
two  months  ago  they  were  more  robust  than 
ever;  and  it  was  rumored  then  that  their  regi- 
ment was  about  to  be  transferred  to  Virginia. 
He  thinks,  however,  they  are  still  in  Tennes- 
see, but,  before  the  battles  north  of  your  old 
home,  had  been  ordered  farther  w^est." 

Even  this  indefinite  news  imparted  to  her 
heart  so  much  comfort  that  her  cheeks  flushed 
and  dimpled  with  joy,  and  as  the  clock  struck 
two  A.M.  just  then  she  bade  them  good-night 
and  sought  her  room,  where,  with  her  sleeping 
children,  she  found  refreshing  slumbers  till 
long  after  sunrise  of  the  new  day. 

After  breakfast  little  Tim  and  Joe  went 
down  to  the  farm,  which  stretched  out  along 
tlie  fertile  sides  of  the  knobs,  inclosing  wide- 
spread winding  valley  fields  of  ripening  corn, 
l)lats  of  stubble,  and  brown  grasses. 

The  negro -cabins  encircled  two  or  three 
springs  bursting  out  of  the  hills  among  the 


A  New  Experience  to  Joe.  85 

rocks  at  their  base,  and  the  negroes,  in  groups, 
were  busy  here  and  there  at  this  and  that. 
They  had  merry  words  for  Tim,  and  several 
of  the  smaller  ones  left  off  work  as  he  passed 
near  them,  and  were  soon  wrestling  with  one 
another  or  with  him,  tossing  about  like  forms 
of  fun  instead  of  bundles  of  bondage.  Every- 
where he  was  hailed  with  joy,  and  he  greeted 
every  one  with  some  saucy,  good-humored 
word,  which  enlivened  all  within  hearing.  To 
them  Tim's  presence  seemed  like  a  gush  of  sun- 
shine in  wintery  weather,  and  he  moved  about 
among  them  as  assured  of  their  love  and  watch- 
ful care  as  a  prince  among  his  body-guards. 

It  was  a  new  experience  to  Joe.  He  was 
not  used  to  negroes.  In  his  valley  free  labor 
and  white  laborers  had  always  been  the  rule. 
No  negroes  dwelt  there,  and  few  had  calls  to 
traverse  its  red  stretches  of  grass  and  clover 
and  waving  grains.  Its  settlers  would  not 
own  them.  They  allowed  that  right  to  others 
nor  quarreled  with  their  preference,  but  to 
them  negroes  were  repugnant,  and  they  re- 
coiled  from    any   contact   with   them.     They 


8G  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

■wore  ingrained  with  the  sentiment  concern- 
ing them:  "Stand  ye  there,  touch  us  not,  we 
are  better  than  you."  An  abyss  of  race  prej- 
udice was  between  them.  They  would  none 
of  them. 

A  nursling  of  that  sentiment,  Joe  moved 
warily  among  them,  his  cold  reserve  repel- 
ling them  where  Tim  went  on  with  a  careless 
abandon  of  way,  and  i)leasant  words  that 
stirred  their  warm  blood  till  their  hearts 
bounded  at  the  presence  of  the  brave,  loving 
lad,  as  though  a  superior  being  indeed  were 
among  them  calling  out  the  kindliness  of  their 
nature. 

Joe  wondered  at  the  seeming  familiarity  of 
the  Fortsons  with  them,  and  said  to  his  moth- 
er when  alone  with  her  at  noon:  "Mother,  I 
wish  we  could  travel  from  here  to-day.  I 
can't  stand  the  negroes.  They  act  like  they 
was  white  and  owned  every  thing.  If  Elfy 
were  to  speak  to  you  as  she  does  to  Mrs.  Fort- 
t^on,  oallin'  her  *  honey '  an'  *  chile,'  an'  a-lect- 
urin'  her  nearly  all  the  time,  I  should  hit  her 
with  something.     Tim  frolics  with  any  of  them 


A  New  Experience  to  Joe.  87 

jes'  like  they  was  white,  and  would  fight  for 
'em  at  the  drop  of  his  hat.  I  feel  like  shying 
rocks  at  'em  all  the  time." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "slave-holders  toler- 
ate much  in  negroes  which  those  who  do  not 
own  them  cannot  endure.  Yet  the  negroes 
reverence  them,  and  nearly  all  of  them  would 
risk  life  for  their  owners  and  families.  If, 
like  Tim,  you  had  been  brought  up  among 
slaves,  you  would  allow  them  to  share  and 
minister  to  your  sports,  and  take  arms  in  a 
moment  against  any  who  would  injure  them. 
Race  antipathy  more  nearly  borders  the  ex- 
treme in  you  than  it  does  in  Tim.  He  says, 
*  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  and  no  farther;' 
you  say  to  them,  *  You  shall  not  come  at  all, 
but  pass  on,'  as  though  your  humanity  and 
theirs  were  shorn  of  every  affinity,  if  any  ever 
existed.  AVhen  you  know  negroes  better  you 
will  like  them  more." 

As  tiie  day  wore  on,  and  old  Phil  started 
his  show  down  at  the  horse-lot — tickling  old 
Kit  to  make  him  kick  the  wildest  and  highest, 
and   for  very   idleness  getting  the  goats  to 


88  Joe:  A  Boy  in  Iht  War-times. 

pair  off  ill  butting-bouts,  and  otherwise  to  per- 
form, filling  every  cliild  with  fun— Benny  felt 
toward  him  as  Tim  did.  When  he  propped 
himself  up  in  a  large  feed-trough  and  told  his 
war  yarns,  Joe  hearkened  eagerly  to  all  he 
said,  and  was  charmed  with  the  spry,  cheer- 
.  f  ul,  polite  old  darky, 

Phil  said,  among  other  things :  "  I  knows 
yer  farder  an'  yer  Unker  Jack,  boys.  Dat 
Masser  Jack  Besmer  mighty  peart  on  trigger, 
I  tells  yer.  He  no  want  no  foolin'  'bout  tings. 
He  laugh  twil  he  cry,  an'  fight  twil  he  loss  all 
he  bref  all  de  same.  He  knock  er  cavortin' 
white  man  plum  er'^ross  de  fire  one  night  dat 
hit  me  when  Mas  Ned  no  dere  'cause  I  tells 
leetle  joke  on  him.  He  no  let  folks  bodder 
me.  I  waits  on  him  jes'  like  I  does  Mas  Ned 
whenebber  I  kin.  But  I's  de  only  nigger  he 
lets  fool  roun'  him  much.  Yer  farder  big- 
ger den  him.  He  hoi'  himse'f  berry  stiff  an' 
stout-like.  He  mighty  clebber,  do'.  Benny, 
dah,  heap  like  him.  He  got  right  black  har 
an'  eyes — he  eye  no  shoot  fire  at  yer  but  wonct 
'fore  yer  knows  you's  got  ter  be  keerful.     He 


A  New  Experience  to  Joe.  89 

no  let  de  niggers  rollick  roun'  'im  like  Mas 
Ned  do  Avlien  lie  no  tired  much.  De  niggers 
trabbel  two,  free  nights  huntin'  tings  fur  dat 
Ned,  wliar  dey  goes  half  er  night  fur  Mas- 
ser  Capen.  Mas  Ned  no  bin  wid  yer  farder 
an'  linker  Jack  fur  long  time  now.  He  git  er- 
long  berry  well  in  de  army  when  he  hab  me 
ter  look  arter  him — git  milk  an'  pig-rib  an' 
heap  o'  honey  an'  w^egertubbles.  I's  gwine 
back  ter  de  army,  boys ;  done  tired  er  home^ 
nuddin'  ter  see  here.  Wants  ter  see  de  drum 
an'  fife  in  cummotion,  an'  de  soldiers  a-py- 
rootin'  erroun',  an'  hear  de  ammernition  er 
whistlin'  an'  er  screamin'  in  de  tree-tops." 


CHAPTER}  VII. 
A  Rebel  Soldier  Kissed  the  Coffin. 

THE  following  clay  Mrs.  Donal  was  journey- 
ing again,  for  tidings  had  come  that  her 
route  was  free  of  enemies. 

The  heart  freshens  when  it  knows  its  path 
lies  apart  from  enemies.  Their  unreasoning 
hates,  their  treacherous  spites,  founded  on 
nothing  bad  outside  themselves,  mar  beauti- 
ful reputations  that,  but  for  the  evil  seeds  they 
sow,  would  be  as  the  lilies  of  God. 

"An  enemy  hath  done  this,"  said  Jesus, 
when  showing  to  the  world  a  waving  harvest 
from  purest  grains  hindered  and  damaged  by 
the  broadcast  tares.  No  marvel  that  Mrs.  Don- 
al's  heart  was  lighter,  gladder  as  she  journeyed 
farther  and  farther  from  enemies.  "True," 
she  said,  within  her  heart,  "  they  will  make 
bonfires  of  our  pleasant  things  when  we  are 
gone,  as  they  did  my  old  home  and  its  souve- 
nirs, and  pursue  us  thither  and  yonder  with 


A  Rebel  Soldier  Kissed  the  Coffin.  91 

their  poisoned  spite,  as  they  did  me  to  the 
swampy  crossing;  but  we  can  leave  them  to 
Providence,  and  hopefully  press  on  in  our  life- 
path." 

And  hopeful  she  was,  as  Joe  drove  forward, 
meeting  citizens  on  the  way  who  courteously 
forwarded  them  on  their  route  till  they  pitched 
camp  to  rest  over  Sunday  in  a  grassy  hollow 
among  woody  hills,  where  a  spring  gushed 
from  out  the  rocks  and  sung  along  its  channel 
among  the  hazel-nuts  and  wild  grapes. 

As  the  Sunday  morning  wore  toward  noon, 
an  old  farmer  and  his  young  daughter  drank 
from  the  spring  and  rested  and  chatted  with 
them  awhile.  The  old  man  looked  sadder 
than  is  the  wont  of  his  class,  and  often  ap- 
peared like  one  dreaming  with  his  eyes  open; 
yet  a  light  played  about  his  brow  at  times 
that  told  of  a  firm  heart  that  had  done  its 
best,  in  joy  and  grief,  wherever  duty  had  led. 
Much  of  the  chat  was  of  the  war,  and  after  a 
long  interval  he  said:  "Sophie  an'  me  hev 
been  over  the  hill  to  Tommy's  grave  by  his 
mother's   side   in    the   woods   anent   the    old 


92  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

church.  My  heart  leaned  upon  Tommy.  He 
never  tired  helping  Sophie,  here,  an'  me. 
Nothing  good  that  he  could  get  but  that  he 
filled  home  with  it  for  us.  The  war  come,  an' 
he  was  for  the  Union,  like  me.  Most  of  the 
neighbor  boys  were  Confederates.  It  wasn't 
long  afore  Tommy  an'  them  jined  the  armies 
they  loved  best.  He  useter  write  to  Sophie 
an'  me  every  chance,  an'  I  hearn  tell  that  none 
fit  bolder  fur  the  old  flag  nor  him.  Only  a 
few  weeks  ago  it  was  now,  one  morning  afore 
day,  some  Kebel  soldiers  rode  up  to  the  gate 
an'  hollered.  "When  we  went  out  they  w^as 
gone,  but  on  the  little  gate-post  was  a  pictur, 
an'  under  it  was  a  scrap  er  brown  paper  all 
writ  over,  like  it  were  done  with  er  scrap  o' 
coal.  It  said:  *  We  are  awful  sorry  to  tell  you 
that  Tommy  was  shot  in  a  skirmish  twenty 
miles  or  more  from  here  yesterday.  He  died 
iu  George  Eoans's  and  Harry's  arms;  and  he 
said,  "  Boys,  tell  father  and  Sophie  that  I  died 
at  peace  with  God,  and  fell  at  my  post."  *'  Yes," 
said  Harry  to  him,  "we'll  tell  'em,  ire'U  tell 
'em;  and  we'll  say  no  braver,  better  man  ever 


A  Rebel  Soldier  Kissed  the  Coffin.  93 

died  for  his  conscience."  "And,"  he  said,  "  tell 
'em  to  meet  mother  and  me  in  heaven,  for  I'm 
going  there,  going  there  now.  And  boys,  we 
are  in  different  armies,  but,  if  you  can,  bury 
me  at  the  old  church  next  to  mother,  and  let 
father  and  Sophie  know,  and  leave  the  picture 
that's  in  my  bosom  with  them;  and,  boys,  bless 
her  for  me,  if  you  can."  And  Harry  said, 
*'  We'll  do  it,  Tom,  or  die  trying."  And  Tom 
left  us,  and  looked  like  he  was  just  gone  to 
sleep.  And  we've  brought  him  to  the  old 
church  and  dug  his  grave  and  left  him  on  the 
side  of  it  for  you  to  see  him  again;  and  one 
of  us  is  w^atchiiig  there  till  you  get  in  sight. 
We  have  only  tears  and  love  for  our  old  play- 
mate, and  w^eep  with  you  over  this  great  sor- 
row of  the  war.' 

"It  had  no  name  to  it,"  continued  the  old 
man,  "  but  Sophie  says  it  were  George  Eoans's 
hand  writ  them  words,  sure  as  she's  alive — 
God  bless  him!  But  it  were  signed  this  way, 
'Some  of  Captain  Donal's  company,  with  his 
consent.'  I  don't  know  nothin','*  the  old 
man  added,  "consarnin'  Captain  Donal;  never 


94  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

liearn  afore  or  sence  o'  him.  Bat  whenever  I 
reads  that  piece  er  old  brown  paper,  ah'  looks 
at  the  pictur  o'  Tommy's  sweetheart  them  boys 
took  out  o'  his  breast,  with  its  blood-stains, 
an'  put  it  on  the  paper  fur  us,  I  say,  '  May  the 
good  Lord  bless  them  boys  an'  that  Captain 
Donal,  ter  git  home  safe  theirselves  ef  Tommy 
is  killed  and  gone!'  The  day  was  a-breakin' 
when  I  got  through  readin'  the  brown  paper, 
an'  mo  an'  Sophie  hurried  erlong  the  nigh 
trail  by  the  sj^ring  to  the  old  church-yard  in 
the  woods  over  yonder;  an'  Sophie  says  she 
see  a  Rebel  soldier,  when  we  got  in  sight,  kiss 
the  coffin,  er  box,  an'  whirl  inter  the  woods 
quicker  ner  thought.  Sometimes  I  thinks 
Sophie  knows  who  it  was,  fur  I  axes  now  an' 
then,  fur  I  wanter  know;  but  she  talks  erbout 
sunthin'  else,  an'  her  cheeks  grow  red  an'  pale 
all  ter  once.  But  I  think  it  must  er  been  no- 
body but  George  Boans,  whose  old  widder 
mother  lives  beyant  the  scrap  o'  mountain 
from  us.  He's  got  the  softest  heart  of  all  the 
boys,  except  it  be  Tommy's  cousin  Harry,  an' 
he's  bolder  en  'most  enny  er  the  lads." 


A  Rebel  Soldier  Kissed  ike  Coffin.  95 

The  old  man  rose  up  from  tlie  rock  he  had 
been  sitting  on,  and  knelt  over  the  spring 
and  pressed  his  lips  on  its  limpid  surface 
and  sucked  in  a  full  draught  of  its  gurgling 
water;  then  bathed  his  face  in  the  branch,  for 
he  had  wept  every  now  and  then  as  he  talked 
about  how  Tommy's  old  playmates  and  ene- 
mies had  brought  him  home  to  be  buried  at 
his  .mother's  side  at  the  peril  of  their  own 
livfes. 

Mrs.  Donal  had  wept  with  him.  She  nearly 
sobbed  aloud  for  joy  at  mention  of  her  hus- 
band's name  in  the  signature.  She  had  gained 
control  of  herself,  though,  as  he  revealed  in 
his  narrative,  without  knowing  it,  Sophie's 
secret  of  love  for  George  Roans;  and,  woman- 
like, she  knew  that  Sophie  saw  another  kiss 
besides  the  one  mentioned  to  her  father — the 
one  thrown  to  her  from  the  edge  of  the  viny 
clump  by  the  soldier  as  he  sped  into  the 
thicket.  And  rosy  Sophie  knew  too  that  she 
had  her  secret,  but  it  could  not  be  helped 
now;  and  the  two  women,  though  one  was 
nearly  twice  as  old  as  the  other,  were  closer 


9G  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

to  each  other  by  the  loves  in  their  hearts,  aud 
chatted  teuderly  and  merrily  enough  too,  till 
the  old  gentleman  came  quietly  to  his  seat 
upon  the  rock  again  and  said:  "You  haven't 
told  us  who  you  is  nor  whar  ye  are  goin'  to 
by  yourselves— no  frien'  erlong  ter  care  fur 
ye.  But  we  hearn  you  pray  in'  this  mornin' 
as  we  was  a-goin'  to  see  whar  Tommy  was  dead 
by  my  old  Dottie,  his  mother,  an'  we  turned 
aside  an'  crossed  the  branch  farther  down  for 
fear  we  might  disturb  ye.  I  reckon  the  Lord 
o'  all  is  a-guardin'  you  in  the  way  you  go." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "so  I  trust."  Then  she 
told  him  her  troubles  till  the  old  man  and 
Sophie  knew  them  as  well  as  the  reader  does. 
AVhen  she  showed  him  Captain  Donal's  pict- 
ure, he  rose  up  in  the  sunshine  and  looked  it 
over  carefully,  and  Sophie  eagerly  examined 
it,  while  he  said:  *'He  'minds  me  now  of  er 
young  'oman  I  see  years  on  years  agone  that 
moved,  an'  I  hearn  tell  married,  more'n  sixty 
mile  som'ers  above  here— her  name  was  Hetty 
Wells." 

"She  was  his  mother,"  she  answered:  "she 


A  Rebel  Soldier  Kissed  the  Coffin.  97 

was  early  widowed,  so  his  training  devolved 
on  her,  and  when  she  was  dying  she  drew  him 
down  and  kissed  him,  and  said,  'Tliat  is  for 
my  Lord  and  Saviour;  I  give  you  to  him.' 
He  reminds  me  often  of  her  in  his  ways  and 
feelings.  He  is  almost  a  woman  until  some 
rough  extremity  comes — then  he  is — is,  well, 
just  Jimmy  Donal." 

"George  icvites,'"  said  Sophie,  "that  he  is 
just  lightning  in  battle." 

Poor  Sophie,  she  didn't  intend  to  tell  that 
she  and  George  corresponded — spoke  before 
she  thought— and  she  stepped  away  quickly 
and  dipped  some  water  from  the  spring,  sip- 
ping it  rather  longer  than  was  at  all  needful. 
But  her  father  didn't  notice  what  she  had 
said,  for  he  spoke  very  promptly:  "I'll  be 
bound  Captain  Donal  an'  George  is  kin,  fur 
I  min'  me  their  mothers  was  cousins,  much 
fcergither  like  sisterins."  And  he  fell  into  an 
untalkative  mood  as  his  mind  got  to  wander- 
ing back  to  the  boys  and  girls  of  long  ago, 
and  their  faces  and  frolics  grouped  about 
him.  Bat  Sophie,  who  knew  and  humored 
7 


98  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

]iis  every  mood,  chatted  away  quite  clieei-f  ully 
witli  Mrs.  Doual,  and  toward  uoon,  with  a 
glowing  face  and  heart,  said:  "Come  right 
along  to  dinner  with  us,  and  stay  all  night; 
father  will  bring  the  cart  and  children.  The 
house  is  just  across  this  wooded  ridge— and 
I'll  send  for  George's  mother." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "I  must  not.  It  might 
destroy  the  peace  that  is  now  between  you 
and  otlier  Unionists,  and  bring  trouble  to 
your  father.  We  will  do  well  here  by  the 
spring  till  to-morrow,  when  we  hope  by  night- 
fall to  enter  Georgia." 

"  O  stay  with  us  until  you  must  go,"  said 
Sophie;  "we  shall  do  well  enough  about  it^ 
never  you  fear  as  to  that." 

" We  never  hnoiCj'  she  responded.  " Some 
whom  we  can  trust  fully  in  good  days  forsake 
us  when  the  evil  days  and  reproach  come,  and 
turn  against  us.  I  must  not  expose  you  and 
yours  to  trouble.  Men  of  malignant  hates  may 
chance  this  way  at  any  time  now,  and  woukl 
return  evil  for  courtesies  shown  to  me — even 
irritate  your  best  friends  with  you.     Army 


A  Eehel  Soldier  Kissed  the  Coffin.  99 

stragglers,  and  some  liome-guards,  often  be- 
come cruel  to  families  of  tlieir  own  party  on 
slight  ijretext,  and  that  you  have  sheltered  me 
■would  be  a  great  sin  with  them." 

Sophie  stretched  her  eyes  in  wonderment, 
and  said:  '*  Why,  here  Union  and  Eebel  fam- 
ilies live  in  peace,  willing  that  all  should  think 
as  they  will,  and  are  kind  to  each  other." 

"  Not  so  in  some  sections,"  she  replied, 
"I  know  to  my  hurt;  and  the  armies  are  mov- 
ing south  of  late  more  and  more,  and  those 
bitter  against  me  may,  any  night,  dash  into 
this  peaceful  region — their  hearts  and  hands 
full  of  blood  and  flames.  I  must  not  allow 
you  to  assume  risks  of  hates  for  me." 

Sophie,  though  not  trained  in  society's  con- 
ventionalities, possessing  much  innate  delicacy, 
ceased  to  urge  her  further,  but  said :  "  We  know 
your  army  is  pressed  greatly  since  the  battles 
about  Murfreesboro;  and  father  says  peace 
will  come  soon,  for  the  Southern  army's  hard- 
ships and  losses  are  too  great  for  even  the 
most  warlike  to  hold  out  much  longer  against 
such  very  consider al^-le  odds  in  every  quarter." 


100  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

Mrs.  Donal  made  no  reply  just  then,  for  her 
mind  was  full  of  tliouglits  of  the  adversities  of 
her  people.  However,  her  heart  glowed  with 
fondness  for  their  courage  in  calamities;  and 
well  she  knew  that  war's  red  wings  should 
hover  over  the  land  many  months  yet,  filling 
it  with  desolation.  Presently  she  said:  "It 
is  too  true  about  the  losses  in  our  army  of 
late — the  tide  is  all  against  us.  I  have  not 
seen  my  husband  in  more  than  two  years,  and 
feared,  till  I  saw  you,  that  he  had  been  trans- 
ferred to  Virginia;  have  heard  nothing  di- 
rectly from  him  in  three  months.  In  the 
heavy  skirmishing  of  late  he  may  have  been 
killed.  Many  messages  came  to  me,  a  week 
before  I  was  driven  from  home,  that  he  had 
been  certainly  slain,  and  my  friends  are  so 
reticent  about  him  it  surely  must  be  so." 

As  she  talked  her  voice  became  moaning 
sobs,  and  she  broke  down  into  irrepressible 
weeping.  Sophie  quietly  turned  away  into 
the  trail  beside  the  branch  and  gathered  ferns 
and  the  few  flowers  that  had  not  yet  faded. 
But  in  a  few  minutes  she  returned  to  her  side, 


A  Rebel  Soldier  Kissed  the  Coffin.        101 

and  giving  to  her  the  little  bouquet,  said:  "1 
ought  to  have  told  you  sooner,  but  I  couldn't 
think  just  right  fast  enough.  George  was 
here  about  two  weeks  ago  to-night,  and  he 
said  Captain  Donal  was  not  far  from  Chatta- 
nooga. He  belongs  to  his  company.  You 
may  know  he  was  safe  then,  or  George  would 
have  told  me.'^ 

Why,  Sophie,  Sophie;  your  heart  is  running 
wild  now,  'child,  though  you  are  trying  ever 
so  hard  to  keep  its  secret!  You  have  just  told 
tw^o  big  ones — that  George,  a  hot  Confederate, 
and  you,  a  Unionist  good  and  true,  have  love's 
trysts,  and  that  he  had  been  of  late  in  your 
neighborhood  having  soft  talks  with  you;  and 
don't  you  know,  Sophie,  that  when  George 
sprung,  like  a  young  mountain  lion,  to  en- 
list under  the  Confederate  banner  as  soon  as 
it  fluttered  in  the  breeze,  your  father  said: 
*'  That's  the  last  er  him  so  fur  as  you're  con- 
cerned, Sophie.  He  shall  never  speak  ter 
you  agin  while  my  hand  can  pull  trigger  to 
prevent  it." 

Ah,  Sophie  did  remember  it  all;    but  she 


102  Joe:  A  Boy  In  the  War-tnncs. 

remembered,  too,  that  ever  since  the  note  of 
brown  paper  which  told  about  Tommy's  brave 
death  had  been  placed  by  her  father  next 
his  heart  he  often  said:  "George  writ  them 
words,  lass — George  writ  'em.  It  were  George 
that  knelt  down  and  kissed  his  coffin.  Poor 
George!  he's  a  drotted  fool  Confederate,  but 
George'll  do  ter  trust  when  troubles  come 
thickest,  fur  all  er  that." 

So  we  will  leave  the  pretty  Unicnist,  smoth- 
ering her  blushes  concerning  the  adventurous 
Confederate  w^hile  trying  to  cheer  Mrs.  Donal, 
for  some  incidents  await  our  narrative  which 
mayhap,  when  you  read  them,  you  will  wish 
had  not  been  told.  But  how  shall  we  get  on 
with  the  story  rightly  unless  we  tell  the  things 
that  are  sad  as  well  as  those  that  are  more 
or  less  pleasant? 


CHAPTEf^  VIII. 

Sounded  from  the  Jungle. 

THE  niglit  preceding  the  Sunday's  inter- 
view of  Mrs.  Donal  with  the  old  Union- 
ist and  his  daughter  was  soft  and  beautiful. 
The  atmosphere  and  scenery  in  thq^ valley 
where  her  old  home  had  stood  affected  one  like 
a  pleasant  dream.  Amidst  the  silence  a  man 
above  the  average  height,  of  soldierly  mien, 
by  starlight  pursued  his  pathless  course  on 
the  shadowy  mountain,  till  he  stood  upon  a 
jutting  ledge  that  looked  down  upon  the  nar- 
row stretch  of  bottoms.  His  companion,  a 
younger  man,  and  lithe  of  form,  had  paused 
upon  a  fallen  tree  a  few  feet  to  his  right,  whence 
he  could  view  the  dim  valley  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage. Both  men  looked  out  over  it,  this 
way  and  that,  in  breathless  eagerness.  No 
lights  were  burning  in  the  dimly  outlined 
houses  which,  here  and  there  on  the  valley's 
bosom,  looked  like  dark,  low  rocks.     Neither 

(103) 


10-i  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

of  the  men  had  spoken  in  the  minute  that  had 
elapsed  since  they  hud  taken  their  positions, 
but  both  had  agciin  and  again  peered  into 
each  curve  and  angle  of  the  familiar  locality 
at  their  feet,  as  though  imj^ressed  by  tho  ab- 
sence of  a  longed-for  object.  Presently  the 
first  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked  again  just 
abreast  of  him  to  some  withered,  charred 
trees,  and  turning  to  his  comrade  their  eyes 
met,  moistened  yet  flashing,  and  he  said:  "It 
is  gone.  Jack;  only  the  chimneys  are  there 
among  the  blackened  trees — all  that's  left  of 
home." 

As  he  uttered  the  word  "  home,"  there  was  a 
tenderness  in  his  voice  that  touched  his  com- 
rade's heart  till  he  sobbed  for  relief,  and  they 
sunk  down  together  upon  the  sward  under 
the  firs,  and  he  said:  "O  it  is  base,  base  to 
wreak  vengeance  upon  a  helpless  woman  and 
children  and  a  sacred  old  home  for  the  pol- 
itics of  her  husband!  It  is  the  vengeance, 
the  resort  of  men  viler  and  more  cruel  than 
beasts." 

His  comrade's  pale  face  and  tightly-pressed 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  105 

lips  were  the  only  answer  lie  received,  and  he 
added:  "Our  journeying  of  nights  and  hid- 
ing of  days,  through  constant  perils  of  life,  to 
see  once  more  Eeeny  and  the  boys  and  little 
Edna,  end  in  the  ashes  of  the  home  we  left 
them  in;"  and,  springing  to  his  feet,  he  pushed 
his  comrade's  head  back  till  the  stars  shone 
brightest  in  his  face^  and  exclaimed:  "My  God, 
Jack!  do  you  think  they  were  so  vile  as  to  do 
them  violence  ?  " 

"Jim,"  he  replied,  "Jim,  you  must  control 
yourself;  excitement  now  is  worse  than  death 
to  us;  it  will  prevent  our  finding  Eeeny  and 
the  children.  The  old  home  is  destroyed,  but 
none  have  yet  been  developed  by  the  war  in 
these  parts  capable  of  the  savagery  that  murders 
women  and  children.  Keeny  is  alive  and  un- 
harmed, you  may  be  sure.  I  have  faith  in  her 
prayers  against  Unionists  and  devils;  we  will 
find  her.  Old  Mrs.  Prenant,  though  a  poison 
Federal,  loves  her  as  a  daughter.  You  stay 
and  watch  while  I  go  to  her  house  yonder,  and 
find  out  about  tho  burning  of  the  home  and 
abo^it  Eeeny.     We  shall  have  to  fly  for  our 


lOG  Joe:' A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

livos  immediately,  for  she  and  her  old  man 
will  at  once  arouse  all  the  country  around  with 
news  of  our  presence;  but  we  will  k)iou-  about 
Ptceny,  live  or  die." 

"No,  no,"  said  Jim.  "I  go  to  the  house; 
you  stay  and  watch.  There  are  questions  that 
I  can  ask,  and  must,  that  you  will  not  think 
of.     I  go." 

They  were,  as  the  reader  surmises.  Captain 
Donal  and  his  wife's  brother,  Jack  Besmer, 
who  with  their  lives  in  their  hands  had  pressed 
their  way  from  the  army  at  Chattanooga, 
through  swarming  Federals  and  hot-beds  of 
Unionists,  to  look  upon  their  loved  ones  again. 
They  agreed  to  rest  a  half -hour,  and  then  go 
together  and  awake  the  old  lady  and  her  hus- 
band, to  learn  what  they  could  from  them.  So 
they  stretched  out  upon  the  ground,  and  in 
the  dead  silence  of  the  mountain-side  they 
watched  and  listened,  for  it  was  seventy  miles 
to  any  Confederate  post,  and  the  interlyiug 
country  was  infested  by  the  enemy.  The  half- 
hour  had  passed,  and  they  were  looking  well 
to  their  arms  prei:)aratory  to  starting  on  their 


Sounded  fr 0711  the  Jungle.  107 

errand,  when  they  heard  at  intervals  the  far- 
off  tramp  of  horses.  More  and  more  distinct 
were  the  sounds  as  the  minutes  flew  by,  and 
Jack  had  just  whispered,  "They  are  less  than 
a  mile  away,  turning  Little  Point  now,"  when 
but  a  few  rods  below  them  a  man  appeared, 
carefully  scrambling  along  the  steep.  His 
course  brought  him  so  close  to  them  that  as 
his  familiar  form  shaped  itself  in  the  glimmer 
of  the  stars,  they  involuntarily  exclaimed, 
''Justin!" 

He  knew  they  were  friends,  or  his  greeting 
would  have  been  bullets,  and,  covering  his 
mouth  with  his  hand  as  a  signal  for  silence, 
he  soon  joined  them. 

"I  knew  you  were  on  a  scout  in  this  direc- 
tion," said  Captain  Donal,  "but  thought  your 
ground  was  nearer  the  army.  Here  you  are 
in  double  peril;  for  though  you  have  changed 
your  name  and  have  been  disfigured  by  face 
wounds,  and  have  assumed  an  awkward  mode 
of  dress  and  manner,  you  were  brought  up 
here;  and  months  ago  Jack  heard,  somehow, 
that  at  least  old  Prenant  knew  you  by  your  as- 


108  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  lVdr-f//nes. 

sumecl  name.  Tell  me,  old  classmate,  do  you 
know  about  the  burning,  and  any  thing  —  ani/ 
tliiiKj  of  lieeny  and  the  children?" 

"O  yes,  Captain,"  he  answered;  "they  are 
safe.  They  were  at  your  old  friend  Tim's 
house  Wednesday  night,  over  thirty  miles  be- 
low here,  you  remember.  He  and  I  had  met  by 
appointment,  that  afternoon,  on  a  bluffy  steep 
next  the  swamp,  six  miles  this  side  his  place, 
and  saw  Eeeny  crossing  the  bridge.  She  is 
as  cool  as  you  are  in  perils,  and  as  brave  as 
Jack." 

He  then  hurriedly  sketched  the  fray  at  the 
bridge,  and  at  the  close  of  his  narrative  his 
listeners  exclaimed  in  a  breath:  "  Quick-witted 
Reeny  forever!  Hurrah  for  Joe  and  old  Boone! 
and  for  old  Tim  and  Phil!  God  bless  you, 
Sam  Mills!"  And  they  tossed  him  from  one 
to  the  other  in  their  ecstasy  of  feeling  till  he 
said:  "That's enough  of  it,  boys.  That  crowd 
coming  up  the  valley  will  cure  you  of  this 
softness  in  no  time.  There  are  eight  or  ten  of 
them.  They  halt  every  few  minutes  to  drink 
and  swear,  and  to  tell  of  the  Secesh  families 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  109 

they  have  plundered,  and  of  the  old  men  they 
have  beaten  nearly  to  death  on  one  and  another 
pretext.  They  are  to  meet  another  band  of 
home-guards  like  themselves,  down  there  at 
the  spring,  presently;  so  I  cut  across  the  spur 
to  hear  their  deviltries  past  and  to  come,  and 
to  disappoint  some  of  their  'to  comes.'" 

The  midnight  riders  were  now  nearing  them; 
so,  concealing  themselves  close  to  the  sj^ring, 
they  waited  for  the  gathering  clan.  The  boozy 
"home-guards"  soon  dismounted,  and  tether- 
ing their  horses  fed  them  with  sheaves  of  oats 
they  had  stolen  or  forced  from  the  rightful 
owner,  and  met  at  the  spring  to  await  the  com- 
ing of  the  other  band.  Many  l^oastful  and 
laughable  stories  they  told — it  seems  that 
even  the  worst  men  sometimes  laugh— and  one 
said:  "When  we  capture  that  cunning  Justin 
we  have  been  after  to-night,  we'll  have  some 
fun.  Jake  brought  along  his  branding-irons 
to  fry  him  in  spots  before  we  riddle  him  with 
bullets,  ^he  man  that  told  us  he  had  been 
seen  to-day  in  the  section  we  have  hunted  over 
can  be  relied  on,  can't  he?" 


110  Joe:  A  Boy  in  tJie  IVar-timrs. 

"  YoR,"  one  replied;  "and  may  be  the  follow 
that  met  us  iu  Eocky  Pass  to-night,  and  told  us 
he  had  seen  the  man  we  described  to  him  near 
old  Longley's  about  dusk,  is  Justin  himself." 

"  Not  he,"  another  quickly  said;  "  he  is 
drawn  and  limping  with  rheumatism  that 
keeps  him  out  of  the  army.  He  lives  on  Will 
Longley's  farm  as  a  protection  to  Will's  family 
while  he  is  serving  out  his  term  of  enlistment 
in  the  war." 

"  Old  Prenant,"  observed  another,  "  says 
that  Justin  is  Sam  Mills." 

"That  is  a  grape-vine  dispatch,"  was  replied. 
"All  know  that  Sam  was  killed  at  the  Perry- 
ville  battle,  and  no  mistake.  Besides,  Sam 
would  steer  clear  of  this  region  where  every- 
body would  know  him  on  sight,  and  he  would 
know  that  ive  are  about." 

Justin  hearkened  eagerly  to  them,  for  he  it 
was  who,  imitating  Longley's  tenant,  had  min- 
gled with  them  at  Piocky  Pass,  and  had  gath- 
ered their  plans  and  facts  useful  to  Ihe  Rebel 
cause. 

Having  wearied   of    waiting  for  the  tardy 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  Ill 

band,  one  proposed  to  cross  the  spur  and  dis- 
perse until  morning.  All  seemed  to  favor  the 
plan,  but,  after  mounting,  they  continued  to 
speak  of  those  who  were  to  meet. them  there, 
and  one  said:  "If  they  have  overhauled  and 
slain  Jack  Besmer  or  Captain  Donal  with  the 
cart,  as  they  expected,  they  will  be  the  most 
.  famous  squad  between  the  Tennessee  and 
Cumberland  rivers.  They  were  to  hunt  else- 
where for  skulking  Secesh  after  they  were 
through  with  the  Donals — that's  kept  them, 
I  reckon." 

As  he  spoke,  the  slow  tread  of  horses  was 
heard  coming  down  the  spur,  and  one  and  an- 
other rode  a  few  feet  from  the  group  and  list- 
ened intently,  trying  to  measure  by  the  sound 
the  distance  of  the  comers  from  them.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  horsemen  came  into  vieT>^  r.t 
the  valley's  edge,  and,  observing  them  closely, 
the  leader  of  the  band  at  the  spring  said: 
"Men,  death  has  been  at  work  among  them 
—three  missing,  one  with  his  head  bound  up, 
two  with  arms  in  slings.  Hallo,  Bill!"  he 
exclaimed  to  one  of   the  approaching  riders. 


112  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

*'liead  shot  off,  Dick's  arm  bandaged,  and 
Jinks's  too!  AVhere  are  the  other  men? 
What's  the  row?" 

"Row!"  he  replied.  "An  ambush  of  sharp- 
shooters; that's  what.  Captain  Zeek  died  on 
the  retreat,  and  Jet  and  Ike  fell  in  the  swamp, 
dead  as  Hector;  and  you  see  our  plight." 

"  Tell  us  about  it!  tell  us  about  it!  "  they  all 
cried,  closing  in  around  them. 

"  It's  about  all  told,  boys,"  said  Bill.  "  We 
headed  off  the  cart  on  a  bridge  in  a  swamp, 
thirty  miles  below  here,  but  found  neither 
Jack  nor  Captain  Donal.  While  we  were 
about  to  shoot  the  beasts  the  sharp-shooters 
opened  fire  uj^on  us,  and  Zeek  fell  shot 
through,  Dick's  shoulder  was  shattered,  and 
Jinks's  arm  was  torn  by  old  Boone.  AYe  shel- 
tered in  the  swamp,  and  returned  the  fire, 
when  Jet  and  Ike  were  'mediately  shot.  AVe 
aided  Captain  Zeek  to  mount,  and  less  than 
a  mile  from  the  point  where  we  turned  from 
the  swamp  into  the  mountains  we  were  firoil 
into  again,  a  bullet  plowing  across  my  head, 
as  you  see.    Captain  Zeek  held  out  six  or  seven 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  113 

miles — never  see  a  man  so  anxious  to  live — 
but  lie  died  that  night  on  side  er  the  trail." 

"  Were  you  pursued?" 

*'  Guess  you'd  er  thought  so  ef  you'd  er  been 
erlong  about  then.  Ef  we  hadn't  er  knowed 
all  er  the  pig-ways  erlong  down  thar,  they 
would  er  captivated  us  beyant  doubt  But  it 
makes  another  score  to  settle  atween  us  an' 
Mr.  Jimmy  Donal  an'  his  friends." 

"Friends?  "  queried  the  Unionist  leader. 

"Yes,"  he  replied;  "  an'  some  on  'em  is  here- 
abouts. The  women  is  got  it  out  ermong  'em 
that  old  Prenant's  wife  cooked  provisions  all 
night,  an'  old  Prenant  put  'em  in  the  keert 
with  his  own  hands,  for  Donal's  wife  and  brats 
to  travel  on." 

"  Yes,"  said  one,  "  an'  put  out  er  lot  er  lies, 
erbout  Confederates  beyant  the  river,  ter  keep 
us  from  overtakin'  her  that  day,  ter  make  her 
foot  it  away  from  here." 

"An'  he  a  good  Unionist — a  ole  hypercrit!" 
sneered  another.     "Let's  go  dose  him  to-night 
with  erbout  five  hundred  stripes,  till  he'll  larn 
not  to  help  any  more  Ptebel  hussies." 
8 


114  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the    War -times. 

"Ho  deserves  it,"  said  their  leader.  "'V\'e 
can  have  no  half  friends  now;  Ihey  should  be 
whole  friends  or  die." 

,  "  If  Mr.  Prenant,"  said  a  man  apart  from  the 
ci'owd,  "  is  not  two  whole  friends  to  the  Fed- 
eral cause  instead  of  half  a  one,  where  will 
you  find  a  whole  one?  His  sons  are  in  the 
army,  and  his  fine  stock  are  there,  and  he 
spends  all  he  makes  to  help  the  Federals  there 
and  at  home.  He  could  not  but  be  kind  to 
Mrs.  Donal.  She  was,  in  a  manner,  brought 
up  by  him  and  his  wife;  and  she  is  a  good 
woman,  I  have  heard,  no  matter  who  calls 
her  *  hussy.' " 

"Hallo!  hallo!  who's  a-talkin'  now?"  re- 
torted their  leader;  and  addressing  the  last 
speaker,  he  said:  "  You've  been  holdin'  us  back, 
ever  sence  that  army  wound  er  yours  have  let 
you  be  here.  I'm  a- tired  of  it,  an'  I  say  I'm 
fur  ole  Prenant's  hide  ter-night.  Come,  boys, 
let's  fur  him  ter  w^anct." 

"  Not  until  you  kill  me,"  said  the  army  man. 
"Listen  to  reason  first,  anyhow.  He  and  all 
his  are  tried  and  true  Federals.    His  boys  will 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  115 

kill  the  last  man  of  you  if  you  stripe  him,  if 
they  have  to  desert  the  army  to  do  it.  Besides, 
the  troop  that  you  know  met  Mrs.  Donal  the 
day  after  she  was  driven  away  are  above  here, 
and  may  pass  this  way  any  time  again.  They 
hate  this  whole  accursed  business  of  beating 
people  and  distressing  families;  they  Avant  a 
fair  fight  all  round.  It  would  be  fun  for  them 
to  lose  you  all  in  the  woods  for  it,  strangled 
on  tree-limbs." 

At  a  signal  from  their  leader  the  angry  men 
bound  the  soldier,  and,  rolling  him  against  the 
rocks,  cried:  "  Come,  men,  now  fur  old  Pre- 
nant!"  and  away  they  dashed. 

"  Not  so  fast  there — halt! "  sounded  from  the 
jungle  near  them.  They  replied  with  a  shower 
of  bullets,  unluckily  for  themselves,  for  their 
fire  was  instantly  followed  by  an  answering 
fusillade  of  revolvers  and  rifles,  and  several 
riderless  horses,  here  and  there,  led  the  fran- 
tic stampede  over  the  mountain-trails. 

It  required  but  a  few  moments  for  Captain 
Donal  and  Jack  to  cut  the  soldier's  bonds,  anc\ 
as  they  did  so  Jack  said:    "We  heard  your 


116  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the    War-times. 

bold  words  for  the  lieli^less,  just  now.  Spirits 
like  yours  ennoble  war,  and  are  ready  with  the 
bravest  for  the  battle." 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet  the  moment  bis  bonds 
were  clipped,  and,  looking  from  one  to  the  otli- 
er,  said:  "I  suppose  I  am  your  prisoner?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  reply,  "  not  so.  This  is  no 
fair  capture.  You  will  be  at  the  battle-front 
soon,  so  we'll  get  you  all  the  same." 

He  smiled  at  their  way  of  telling  him  that 
he  was  free,  but  ere  he  could  speak  they  were 
hurrying  to  the  covert  of  the  cliffs.  He  did 
not  know  how  many  were  with  them,  but  in- 
ferred from  the  rapid  firing  that  there  were 
twenty  at  least,  and  knew  that  he  had  nothing 
to  fear  from  them.  Finding  that  his  horse  had 
broken  away  in  the  fracas,  he  went  across  the 
valley  to  Farmer  Prenant's  house  to  rest  for 
the  night.  The  old  farmer  welcomed  him, 
and  listened  anxiously  as  he  detailed  the  in- 
cidents at  the  spring,  but  was  very  still  and 
silent  for  some  minutes  after  the  soldier's 
narrative  ended.  There  was  a  fierce,  sad  tone 
in  his  voice  when  he  said  at  last:   **My  b'ys 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  117 

is  soldierin'  at  the  battle-front,  an'  liev  been 
from  the  first — they  is  true  Federals.  They 
an't  been  home  gwine  on  now  to  three  years, 
an'  them  troopers  tol'  me  Wednesday  they 
was  true  grit  where  the  bullets  whistles  plen- 
tifulest.  When  we  sends  them  things  from 
home,  we  sends  word  to  divide  with  the  b'ys 
farthest  from  their  folks,  an'  with  them  that 
has  the  moce  onfriendliest  time  of  it.  No 
Confederate  has  ever  fetched  me  an'  my  ole 
'oman,  an'  ef  these  'ere  kreeturs  at  home  ever 
does,  it  will  be  the  sorrowfulest  day  that  can 
happen  to  them.  The  b'ys  will  git  home  some 
day,  an',  i^eace  or  war,  they'll  hunt  them 
kreeturs  ter  death  without  my  knowin'  uv  it, 
if  they's  shot  fur  it;  an'  Eeeny's  husband 
would  help  'em  without  the  axin,  an'  so  would 
her  brother  Jack,  Confederates  though  they  is 
all  through.  I  wants  no  after-claps  with  me 
an'  mine  when  this  war  is  done.  But  ef  it  were 
to  do  over  agin,  beatin'  or  no  beatin',  I'd  do  it 
fur  Pieeny  and  her  childern,  and  better'n  I  did 
t'other  night,  ef  I  could.  Eeeny's  'moce  like 
our  own  darter,  an'  ef  I  hadn't  er  done  fur  her 


118  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the    War-times. 

the  best  I  could,  them  b'ys  would  er  blamed 
me  fur  it.  They  writ  ter  us  in  ther  last  letter 
ter  be  shore  not  to  let  Reeny  be  'posed  on.  Ef 
them  b'ys  was  here  now,  they'd  speak  to  them 
kreeters  with  mor'n  their  tongues  fur  the 
way  they've  been  huntin'  down  an'  prosecutin' 
Eeeny,  ef  she  is  Confed,  soul  and  body.  They 
nat' rally  hates  folks  that  troubles  women  an' 
childern,  mor'n  they  does  sarpents." 

Though  he  paused  and  looked  into  the  coals 
that  glowed  on  the  hearth,  the  soldier  made 
lio  remark,  feeliug  that  it  was  best  to  let  the 
tried  old  heart  work  through  the  trouble  in  its 
own  way;  and  he  went  on  saying:  "I've  been 
a-wonderin'  who  them  Confeds  was  that  give 
'em  that  sellute,  an'  cut  the  ropes  offen  you. 
'Twa'n't  no  or'nary  scoutin'  party;  fur  they'd  er 
liked  ter  a-seen  'em  arter  me,  mor'n  likely,  fur 
I'm  known  fur  and  wide  as  a  out  an'  outen 
Unionist.  It  are  the  scoutoners  that  does  the 
height  of  the  meanness  on  both  sides.  The 
real  scouts  doan  sliow  therselves,  I  hearn  say, 
leastways  not  until  they's  obleeged  ter,  an' 
doan  go  in  bunches.    I  hearn  sny  Sam  Mills  is 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  119 

a  Confed  scout  now  under  the  name  er  Justin. 
He  went  ter  the  war  from  this  naborhood. 
He's  a  low  chunk  of  er  man,  straight  as 
*  Ole  Hickory,'  an'  quicker 'n  a  deer.  Wouldn't 
s'prise  me  ef  'twa'n't  him  cut  you  loose,  arter 
his  men  scart  them  home-guard  kreeturs." 

"No,"  said  the  soldier,  "there  were  two  got 
to  me  same  time,  both  rather  tall  and  slim  than 
low." 

"An'  one  on  'em  stuttered  jes'  a  little?" 
queried  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered. 

"I  ventur  it  war  Eeeny's  husband,  an' 
brother  Jack,"  he  said  quickly,  "  a-tryin'  to  see 
the  poor  dear  gal  and  the  childern  and  the 
old  home  once  more  afore  their  army's  driv 
inter  the  sea;"  and  his  head  hung  upon  his 
breast  as  he  went  off  into  a  reverie  for  some 
time.  "We  shall  never  know  all  the  thoughts 
that  soothed  or  stirred  him  then,  but  the 
intention  of  the  home-guards  to  beat  him 
with  rods  evidently  disturbed  him,  for  he  said: 
"  Eeeny,  afore  them  shameful  kreeters  of  the 
yearth  killed  up  an'  driv  off  her  stock,  uster 


120  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

send  the  poor  Union  families,  whose  men-folk 
was  i]i  the  war,  things  upon  things  to  help 
'em  erlong.  An'  she's  done  so  latterly,  though 
her  an'  little  Joe  made  the  crap  plowin'  them 
cows  she  druv  to  the  keert  t'other  day.  The 
b'ys  sent  us  word  not  long  ergother'd  be  fight 
arter  fight  enny  time  with  the  dratted  Confeds, 
an'  Reeny  hearn  on  it,  and  brought  a  pack  o'  the 
softest,  flossy  things  in  little  rolls,  fur  the  ole 
'oman  ter  send  'em  in  case  eyther  of  'em  were 
wounded;  and  the  poor,  lovin',  forgivin'  heart 
baked  er  lot  of  things  she  knowed  the  b'ys 
liked,  for  the  ole  'oman  to  pack  in  the  box  we 
sent  'em  ter  divide  out  with  t'other  soldiers;  an' 
yit  them  onarthly  home-guard  kreeturs  would 
er  beat  me  nigh  onto  death  ter-night  fur 
'turnin'  good  fur  (lood  to  a'moce  my  own  gal. 
Stranger,  I  an't  see  you  afore  to-night,  but  I 
hearn  er  your  hard  fightin'  agin'  the  Confeds, 
an'  erbout  your  wound.  I  thank  you  fur  them 
risky  words  you  said  fur  me  an'  fur  Eeeny. 
The  b'ys  shall  hev  them  words  writ  down  ter 
'em,  an'  ef  ever  they  kin,  they'll  sarve  you  a 
good  turn  shore  as  the  yearth  gives  'em  stand- 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  121 

in'  room.  More'n  a  week  ago,  me  an'  the  ole 
'omaii  sent  you  word  to  cross  the  spur  an' 
make  this  your  home  ontwil  you  got  well;  an' 
you  sent  word  you  was  a-comin'.  Now  you 
er  here,  you  must  stay  ontwil  you  er  ready 
fur  the  front.  Narry  step  must  you  go  from 
here  ontwil  then." 

Pale  and  weak  from  fatigue  and  his  unhealed 
wound,  the  soldier  said  nothing,  but  let  the 
old  man  grope  along  through  the  dark  and 
tender  things  of  the  recent  past  in  his  own  way; 
for  he  thought  of  his  old  North  Carolina  Union 
father  all  the  while,  and  knew  it  was  best  to 
let  fond  old  age  have  its  way  in  joy  and  in 
grief  as  well.  But  he  could  not  help  the  grit- 
ting of  his  teeth  and  the  moisture  in  his  eyes 
as  the  old  farmer's  voice  emphasized  with 
tremulous  notes  some  harsh  or  gentle  thing. 
The  old  man  roused  out  of  another  dream-like 
pause,  and  said:  "These  mountains  an't  the 
biggest,  but  they's  mighty  troubled  now.  Ther 
sons  an'  darters  is  all  divided  up,  homes  agin' 
homes,  friends  agin'  friends,  erboutthismizzer- 
bel  war.     The  church  over  agin'  the  spring,  on 


122  Jijc :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

er  boncli  er  the  spur,  don't  seem  like  itself  now 
— so  many  gone,  so  few  comin'  ter  the  meetin's, 
an'  them  holdin'  bad  feelin',  one  an'  t'other. 
Me  an'  the  ole  'oman  is  er  tryin'  ter  pass'fy 
the  women  an'  childern,  an'  the  men  not  in  the 
army.  We  wants  unity  in  religion  all  the  time 
ennyhow,  an'  to  hev  no  bones  er  strife  when 
peace  comes.  But  them  home-guard  scout- 
eners,  er  both  sides,  keeps  er  stirrin'  things — 
they  does  er  sight  er  harm.  They  oughter  be 
chained,  er  kej^t  at  the  front.  They's  too  lazy 
and  plunderous  ter  make  provisions  fur  the 
army,  an'  too  mean  an'  scart  ter  die.  We  must 
jes'  watch  an'  wait,  an'  pray  an'  work  an'  boar 
on,  an'  do  the  best  we  can.  But  I  naterally 
will  keep  er  longing  fur  the  ole-time  songs, 
an'  big  meetin's,  an'  naborly  ways  we  aster  hev 
over  thar  at  the  ole  church.  But  now  it  will 
be  wus  an'  wus — they've  driv  Eeeny  away  to 
sing  an'  pray  an'  suffer  an'  die  'mong  folks 
that  never  seen  her  nur  hearn  her  afore;  an' 
now  they's  a-threat'nin'  an'  talkin'  agin'  me  an' 
the  ole  'omnn.  The  b'ys  won't  disremember  it 
ontwil  they  gives  ter  them  kreeters  a  tetch  er 


Sounded  from  the  Jurujle.  123 

the  stripes  they  started  ter  give  me  ter-night. 
I  uster  could  qiioil  the  b'ys  with  a  saft  tetch, 
or  er  look;  but  they's  got  beyant  me  now — the}" 
er  shore  ter  git  them  kreeters,  unbeknown  ter 
the  ole  'oman  an'  me,  erbout  this  night's  work 
an'  erbout  Keeny." 

Here  he  was  stopped  by  a  voice  froirf  an 
adjoining  room  saying,  in  a  firm  but  cheery 
way:  "Ole  man,  you's  er  talkin'  erroun'  an'  er- 
roun'  mightily  ter-night.  I  an't  oneasy  erbout 
them  kreeters.  The  judgments  of  the  Lord 
will  come  erpon  'em  at  the  due  time,  with- 
out you  an'  the  boys  botherin'  erbout  'em. 
The  stranger  needs  ter  rest,  e£  you  don't." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Hetty,"  he  said,  "  I  furgits  ter  be 
perlite  these  war-times.  But  erbout  them 
jiidfj)nents;  it  seems  ter  me  the  wust  and  the 
meanest  lives  the  longest,  an'  has  the  saftest 
time  sometimes." 

"Well,  ole  man,"  she  replied,  "you's  nearly 
twice  as  ole  as  them  guard  kreeters.  I  hope 
you  an't  ivus  nor  'em." 

He  felt  the  wrinkles  go  out  of  his  face  or  fill 
up  with  a  smile,  and  he  nodded  to  the  soldier 


124  Joe:  A  Bn)j  in  the  Wiir-times. 

and  said:  "  That's  my  ole  'oman.  We've  been 
together  now  gwine  on  ter  fifty  year — she 
knows  'zactly  how  ter  git  me  when  she  wants 
ter,  an'  she  ginnerally  wants  ter  when  I'm 
wrong.  But  you  do  need  rest;  thar's  your  bed, 
an'  you  er  Avelcome  ter  it  as  one  er  the  b'ys 
nearly  as  can  be.  So  good -night,  an'  good 
luck  to  you." 

As  he  stooped  down  to  put  the  chunks  to- 
gether before  withdrawing,  something  brushed 
his  back  and  fell  at  his  feet.  It  had  been 
pushed  through  the  crack  of  a  little  window 
that  opened,  next  the  chimney-jamb,  to  a  small 
scaffold  where  his  wood  was  usually  piled  of 
nights  for  convenience  in  replenishing  the  fire; 
and  he  picked  it  up,  and  unfolded  it  in  a  start- 
led way,  and  hurriedly  lit  his  candle,  and  sat 
down  by  the  table  to  read  it.  He  put  on  his 
spectacles  and  peered  at  the  writing,  then  took 
them  off  and  wiped  them  on  a  piece  of  buck- 
skin that  he  drew  from  his  pocket,  and,  re- 
placing them  upon  his  nose,  studied  the  ]^a- 
per  again,  until  noticing  the  signature,  he 
exclaimed:    "Ole  'oman,  ole  'oman!  run  here. 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  125 

gall  This  ar  er  sunthin'  from  Eeeny's  fool 
Confed  husband,  shore's  yer  born!  Bring  yer 
specs." 

She  came  hurriedly  in,  adjusting  her  spec- 
tacles to  her  nose  as  she  came,  and  took  a  seat 

if 
next  the  churn,  at  the  corner  of  the  big  fire- 
place nearest  the  old  man,  but  looked  steadily 
into  the  fire  instead  of  at  the  letter  he  held 
unsteadily  before  his  eyes,  and  listened  as 
he  read  it  aloud  very  slowly,  spelling  out 
the  words  and  then  pronouncing  them.  He 
read: 

"  B-1-e-s-s-i-n-g-s  blessings  o-n  on  y-o-u-r  yor 
g-oo-d  good  o-l-d  old  U-n-i-o-n  Union  h-e-a-d 
head  f-o-r  fur  a-11  all  t-h-e  the  g-oo-d  good 
y-o-u  you  a-n-d  an'  A-u-n-t  Aunt  H-e-s-t-e-r 
Hetty  h-a-v-e  hev  d-o-n-e  done  f-o-r  fur  E-ee- 
n-y  Reeny  a-n-d  an'  t-h-e  the  c-h-i-1-d-r-e-n 
child^rn. 

"  Y-o-u-r  yor  e-n-e-m-y  enemi  u-n-t-i-1  ontwil 
sv-e  we  w-h-i-p  whip  t-h-i-s  this  f-i-g-h-t  fight. 

"J.  D." 

"  That's  Jimmy,  sliove  anuf,  ole  man,"  said 
Aunt  Hetty  as  he  finished  reading  the  note. 


126  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the   War-times. 

He  pulled  off  Lis  spectacles  and  put  them 
back  in  a  little  steel  case  before  be  answered: 
"Tober  shore  it  is,  ole  'oman.  An'  it's  jes' 
like  a  mizzerbel  fool  Confed — tliey's  forever 
s'posen'  they'll  whip  the  fight,  no  matter  what 
happens  to  'em.  We  uns  will  hev  to  shove  'em 
into  the  sea  afore  they'll  hev  sense  anaf  ter 
b'lieve  we  uns  kin  lick  'em  out  er  ther  boots, 
an'  afore  they'll  think  erbout  er  hollerin'  anuf. 
I  wish  they  had  sense  anuf  ter  know  they 
is  whipped  beyant  all  doubt,  an'  quit  ther 
foolishness.  I  wants  the  b'ys  ter  come  home 
an'  go  ter  work.  It  ar  his  own  han' write,  in 
course.  He's  the  very  chap,  with  Jack,  that 
scart  them  home-guard  kreeturs  at  the  spring, 
an'  cut  the  soldier  loose.  Ef  they'd  jest  er 
liollered  ther  names  at  'em,  they'd  er  broke  all 
ther  necks  agin'  the  trees  an'  rocks  a-gittin' 
aAvay  without  ther  shootin' — the  mizzerbel, 
planderin'    house-burnin',    'oman-fightin'    ca- 

Captain  Donal  and  Jack  were  well  on  their 
way  back  to  their  army,  and  Justin  on  his  er- 
rand as  scout,  while  the  old  farmer  indulged  in 


Sounded  from  the  Jungle.  127 

criticism  on  the  war  and  its  warriors.  But 
after  awhile,  the  soldier  having  gone  to  bed, 
he  fell  asleep,  sitting  in  his  arm-chair,  snor- 
ing as  though  trying  to  swallow  a  storm  and 
snort  it  out  by  turns. 


CHAPTEf^  IX. 
Gathering  of  the  Armies. 

MRS.  DONAL  resumed  her  journey  Mon- 
day, refreshed  by  the  holiday's  rest  and 
by  the  good  news  which  had  come  to  her  of 
her  husband  by  Sophie's  trysts  with  her  lover. 
It  was  the  AVednesday  following  when,  halt- 
ing at  a  mill  on  a  clear  stream  which  brawled 
around  the  foot  of  a  ridge-like  mountain,  an 
old  man  in  a  butternut  suit  accosted  her.  On 
learning  her  story,  he  said:  "Refugees  have 
the  hardest  time.  There  are  two  cabins  to- 
gether up  yon  blue  ravine,  perhaps  a  half-mile. 
They  are  vacant,  and  right  comfortable.  If  you 
like,  you  can  live  there.  There's  a  grass  past- 
ure, and  the  few  level  acres  cleared  in  the  gorge 
are  very  fertile.  Wood  all  around.  The  men 
are  nearly  all  in  the  army  and  nobody  to  rent 
it,  so  it's  doing  me  no  good.  It  will  be  all  the 
better  with  some  one  living  there.  Suppose 
you  walk  up  that  dim  road  yonderways  and 

(1i;h) 


Gathering  of  the  Armies.  129 

see  if  it  will  suit.  It's  the  first  settlement  you 
come  to — can't  miss  it.  It's  an  oat-of-the-way 
place,  but  a  fight  good  one.  If  you  are  content 
with  it,  just  use  it  as  your  own,  ma'am,  till  the 
war's  over.  You'll  have  no  nigh  neighbors, 
I'm  sorry  to  say,  but  my  folks  will  be  glad  to 
see  you.  The  boys  can  cut  and  sell  wood  to 
the  town-people  just  round  the  point  may  be 
tv/o  miles,  and  do  odd  jobs  until  crop-time. 
Good  garden  -  spot  —  raise  a  heap  of  house 
truck  in  it.  You'll  get  along  nice  enough, 
nice  enough.  Only  keep  up  a  good  heart  and 
trust  in  God.  Good-day  to  you,  ma'am.  Send 
the  children  to  the  first  house  round  the  other 
ridge  to  let  wife  and  the  girls  know  if  you  con- 
clude to  live  in  the  cabin." 

The  old  citizen  was  soon  out  of  sight,  and  she 
stood  absorbed  in  thought.  She  had  not  de- 
bated the  question  as  to  where  and  how  she 
should  settle  since  she  was  driven  from  home 
— her  care  had  been  to  get  on  safely.  And 
now  that  she  was  brought  face  to  face  with 
tlie"  problem  of  a  new  home,  none  to  help, 
none  to  protect,  she  was  like  a  wounded, 
9 


130  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

hunted  deer  driven  from  its  wonted  coverts 
to  perish.  But  she  thought  of  the  lilies  that 
could  not  take  thought  for  themselves,  and 
yet  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  clothed 
as  one  of  them;  and  how  the  sparrows  were 
fed,  and  not  one  of  them  could  fall  to  the 
ground  without  God.  And  as  she  began  to 
take  comfort,  little  Joe  came  and  sat  quietly 
by  her  on  the  brown  grass,  and  said:  "Moth- 
er, you  told  us  at  the  Sunday  camp  that  the 
Lord  would  provide  a  home  for  us.  Let  me 
an'  Benny  run  up  that  ravine  an'  see  them 
cabins.  May  be  it's  the  home  the  Lord  is  fix- 
in'  for  us." 

At  the  boy's  words  she  broke  down  and 
wept  bitterly.  But  Joe  i^ut  his  little  brawny 
arms  about  her  neck  and  kissed  her,  and  said: 
"Benny  and  me  will  keep  you  safe  till  fa- 
ther and  Uncle  Jack  come  back  from  the  war, 
mother.  We  can  work  a  heap  more  now,  for 
we've  got  mighty  strong  in  drivin'  an'  build- 
in'  big  fires  ter  camp  by.  You'll  see  we'll  got 
on  nice  anuf,  nice  anuf,  as  the  gray -haired 
man  said." 


Gathering  of  the  Annies.  131 

"Yes,* yes,"  she  said,  as  tliougli  her  heart 
had  never  been  saddened  by  care.  "  Yes,  you 
and  Benny  take  Boone  and  go  to  the  place  and 
come  tell  me  all  about  it.  May  be  we  can  stay 
there  the  rest  of  the  day  and  to-night  any- 
how." 

Joe  and  Benny  and  Boone  were  soon  going 
along  "the  dim  road"  up  the  ravine.  They 
were  more  sedate  and  observant  than  they 
had  been  in  their  old  valley  home,  and  kept 
closer  together.  Boone  sniffed  about  the 
thickets  but  didn't  go  far  into  them,  and  the 
boys  talked  in  subdued  yet  careless  tones 
instead  of  whooping  every  few  steps  as  they 
used  to  do.  Indeed,  the  warlike  scenes  they 
had  witnessed  of  late  and  the  rough  route 
they  had  traveled  the  last  week  were  impart- 
ing to  them  the  thoughts  and  ways  of  men 
before  the  time;  yet  when  they  had  filled  eye 
and  mind  with  the  cabins  and  fields  and  big 
spring  and  so  forth,  to  report  to  their  moth- 
er, and  Boone  had  jumped  a  fox  at  a  clump 
of  rocks  on  the  way  back,  they  yelled  and 
whooped  and  dashed  through  the  bushes  up 


132  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-thnes. 

and  down  and  around  and  about,  as  if  old 
times  had  returned.  Their  mother  caught 
the  joyful  thrill  of  their  voices,  and  watched 
along  the  mountain-side  for  them  and  Boone, 
enjoying  the  boy-like  break  in  upon  the  griefs 
of  life.  Edna  saw  the  fox  as  it  whisked  across 
a  bare  place  on  the  steep,  and  clapped  her 
hands  and  screamed  with  delight,  answering 
the  yelps  of  Boone  and  the  shouts  of  the  boys, 
now  in  sight.  But  the  fox  soon  eluded  Boone, 
who,  with  his  tongue  lolling  out  of  his  mouth, 
came  panting  down  the  point  with  the  boys 
to  the  cart. 

The  incident  was  like  the  gush  of  light  of 
a  sweet,  early  morning  to  Mrs.  Donal.  It  car- 
ried her  back  to  girlhood,  when  she  and  her 
brother  Jack  often  hunted  together  in  the 
hills  round  about  the  old  home;  and  she  re- 
called how  once,  among  the  weird  bushes  and 
rocks  in  a  blue  ravine,  a  mottled  fawn  had 
passed  so  close  as  to  become  entangled  in 
her  dress,  and  she  quickly  imprisoned  it  on 
her  bosom;  and  how  Jack  had  carried  both 
guns,  for  she  would  not  let  him  help  her  with 


Gather ing  of  the  Armies.  133 

the  fawn,  fearing  he  would  hurt  it.  Its  beau- 
tiful spotted  skin,  its  dreamy,  trusting  eyes, 
its  love  for  her,  how  it  attacked  James  Donal 
one  happy  courtship  day  for  beguiling  her 
into  a  mountain  ramble,  and  she  could  scarce- 
ly appease  its  fury,  trooped  through  her  heart, 
and  she  was  like  a  girl  again  for  freshness  and 
hope,  when  Joe  got  to  her  and  said:  ''Good, 
tight  cabins;  we'll  drive  right  up  there;  wood 
all  around,  plenty  of  grass  for  Het  an'  ole 
Eed,  nice  valley  field,  good  fence,  nobody  to 
bother,  big  spring  among  the  rocks.  Come 
right  along,  mother.  Gee,  there,  Het!  step 
around,  Eed!  Here's  your  way  home!  Gee 
up,  gee  up! " 

And  ere  she  thought,  she  found  herself 
walking  behind  the  cart,  Joe  driving,  Benny 
and  Edna  locking  hands  and  running  on  ahead 
with  Boone  along  "that  dim  road,"  her  head 
swimming  with  mixed  emotions,  her  steps 
trembling,  yet  free  with  content,  nearing  her 
new  home.  Nor  was  she  sorry  when  she  got 
to  the  place  for  yielding  to  the  children's 
happy,  flurried  way  in  starting  the  cart  from 


134  Joe:  A  Bo/j  in  the  lV((r-timc.s. 

the  creek  up  tlie  blue  raviue.  "  It  suits  us," 
she  said  to  them;  "we  will  do  nice  enough 
here  till  peace  comes." 

So  the  boys  scoured  the  cabins  with  gunny- 
sacks  right  away,  and  built  big  fires  to  dry 
them  by  night,  while  the  cows  lowed  for  joy 
in  the  high  grass,  and  she  and  Edna  talked 
and  sung  and  put  out  the  things  from  the  cart 
to  air  in  the  greeting  sunshine.  They  were 
working  away  merrily,  when  they  saw  coming 
down  the  trail  over  the  low  ridge  eastward 
an  old  lady  and  two  girls.  They  crossed  the 
valley  field — the  girls  waiting  eveiy  now  and 
then,  stopping  for  the  old  lady  and  gathering 
flowers  and  grasses,  coming  slov\^ly  on  to  the 
fire  where  she  and  Edna  were  preparing  din- 
ner. She  gave  them  chairs,  and  the  old  lady 
said:  "My  old  man  told  us  about  you.  We 
were  going  to  meet  you  at  the  creek  when  we 
saw  the  smoke  rising  from  the  chimney  above 
the  ridge,  and  Ave  took  the  trail-way.  Hus- 
band went  back  to  come  with  the  cart  round 
tlie  x^oint.  Them's  red  apples  in  that  basket 
for  the  children,  and  dried  peaches  and  some 


Gathering  of  the  Armies.  135 

real  old  grape  wine  in  this  one  for  sick-times; 
and  some  coffee  ready  ground  and  biscuits 
and  things  in  the  one  Gertie  brought— she's 
the  strongest  and  the  willingest  girl,  and  the 
handiest,  to  be  sure,  in  the  whole  valley." 

Mrs.  Donal  seemed  to  be  hearing  her  moth-* 
er  come  back  to  earth  from  heaven  talking  to 
her,  so  charmed  was  she  by  the  tones  of  sim- 
ple  good-will;  and    the  old   lady  continued: 
*'  We  are  heart  glad  you  will  stay  among  us. 
Come  sit  down  by  me,  honey,  and  rest.     The 
girls  will  soon  have  dinner  for  us.     They  have 
some  venison  and  coffee  on  the  fire  now;  the 
bread  in  the  basket  is  almost  warm — just  out 
of  the  oven  when  we  started  to  meet  you  at 
the  creek  with  lunch,  and  to  persuade  you  to 
stop  with  us.     Sit  down  by  me  and  rest,  child; 
sit  down.     The  old  man  says  they  have  treated 
you  rude  enough  for  varmints,  but  you'll  do 
w^ell,  you'll  do  well;"  and  she  put  her  hand 
on  Eeeny's  head,  and  stroking  her  hair  softly, 
said:  "It  is  soft  and  beautiful  and  brown- 
just  like  my  Effie's  was  who  is  gone  up  to 
God's  house  to  stay  until  I  come.      Tell  me 


136  Joe:  A  Boy  in  tlw  Wur-tlmrs, 

your  name,  child."  And  she  said,  "Eee— 
Eeeny,"  and  she  hid  her  face  upon  the  old 
lady's  glioulder  and  sobbed  till,  like  a  soothed 
child  indeed,  her  heart  lost  its  burden  and 
was  freshened  and  strengthened  for  the  com- 
ing battles  of  life. 

The  old  visitor  seemed  all  unconscious  of 
the  mental  witchery  of  her  words  and  ways, 
and  while  the  girls  were  busy  here  and  there 
— broiling  venison,  roasting  potatoes,  warm- 
ing the  bread,  boiling  eggs  and  coffee — she 
went  on  talking.  "It  is  a  lonesome  place," 
she  said,  "sitting  up  here  among  the  spurs 
and  ravines  over  the  spring  off  the  big  road, 
but  town  is  Just  around  the  mountain  not 
tliree  miles  away.  The  mill  is  but  a  few 
steps  down  there,  you  know,  and  the  old  rock 
church  not  quite  two  miles  away.  TTe  gather 
there  to  pray,  especially  Avheii  we  get  heavy 
news  from  the  war.  It  is  a  Presbyterian  church, 
but  we  Methodists  are  welcomed  there  to  hold 
meetings,  so  we  hear  our  own  preacher  and 
the  Presbyterians'  too.  AYe'll  go  together  to 
meeting  over  there  whenever  you  like." 


Gathcrlnfj  of  the  Armies.  V.M 

''O,"  she  answered,  "I  shall  so  like  that) 
I  am  Ji  Methodist.  The  Lord's  word  is  true— 
'  Call  upon  me  in  the  day  of  trouble,  and  I  will 
deliver  you,'  1  have  been  calling  upon  him, 
day  and  night,  since  childhood.  The  days  of 
trouble  have  come  fast  and  heavy  sometimes, 
but  he  has  delivered,  and  doth  deliver,  me 
out  of  them  all.  I  thought  awhile  ago  at  the 
creek  that  I  should  never  know  rest  and  hope 
again,  but  they  are  both  in  my  heart  now. 
Your  kind  words  and  ways  give  me  new  life ; 
and  if  ever  James  and  brother  Jack  come  from 
the  war,  they  will  know  how  to  let  our  grati- 
tude be  known  better  than  words  can  express." 

*'The  gratitude  is  on  our  side,  child,"  said 
the  old  lady  in  a  crispy,  cheery  way;'  "for 
while  your  husband  and  brother  are  doing 
all  they  can  amidst  bullets  and  bombs  to 
shield  us  from  ruin,  you  will  be  our  neiglibor 
working  and  worshiping  and  suffering  and 
hoping  with  us.  Companionsliip,  in  times  of 
general  trouble,  helps  all  concerned  to  bear 
and  trust  and  try  on,  until  it  shall  please  God 
to  make  the  calamities  pass  away." 


138  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

The  old  gentleman  was  now  at  hand,  and 
drove  his  cart  near  the  cabin  door.  He  and 
Joe  took  from  it  a  table,  a  chair  or  two,  a 
couple  of  mattresses,  some  meal  and  flour  and 
l)otatoes,  and  a  few  pounds  of  meat  and  laid, 
and  some  woolen  coverlets,  and  put  them  con- 
veniently on  the  ground,  as  the  cabins  were 
yet  too  damp  to  receive  them.  The  table  was 
soon  arranged  under  the  trees,  and  while  all 
enjoyed  the  dinner,  picnic  style,  the  old 
gentleman  said:  "Wife,  if  you  and  the  girls 
Viould  make  coffee  as  good  as  this,  I  should 
quit  complaining  and  grow  fat;  this  venison 
is  cooked  right — just  to  a  turn,  juice  left  in 
it.  You  all  must  take  lessons  of  Mrs.  Donal. 
This  dinner  suits  me  better  than  any  I  have 
Lad  in  a  long,  long  while." 

The  old  mother  and  the  girls  were  smiling 
to  one  another  as  he  went  on  praising  things, 
especially  as  they  were  cooked;  but  Mrs. 
Donal  said:  "That's  the  way  your  girls  cook 
already;  it  is  their  conking,  every  bit  of 
it— coffee  and  all."  And  amidst  the  merri- 
ment at  his  expense,  he  good-humoredly  said: 


Gathering  of  the  Armies.  139 

"  Well,  well,  Mrs.  Donal,  the  minxes  and  tlieir 
mother  are  always  turning  the  tables  on  me 
anyhow.  Mother,  there,  has  ahvays  been  too 
smart  for  me  from  the  time  I  went  courting 
her;  and  the  girls  and  she  together  nowadays 
right  down  impose  upon  me.  They  have  got  me 
thin  enough  to  begin  to  fatten  me,  I'm  sure." 

"Why,  father,"  interposed  Ella,  "you  said 
this  morning  you  were  too  fat  to  walk  much, 
and  you  wished  for  your  pony  back  that  the 
soldiers  borrowed  of  you  last  week." 

"There  it  is,"  he  replied,  "there  it  is  again! 
Humbugged  and  outwitted  and  twitted  at 
home  and  abroad.  I'll  never  see  that  pony 
again,  lass.  They  tell  me  in  town  that  the 
fellow  was  a  regular  Federal  spy,  and  was 
chased  on  Stomp  by  some  of  our  men  in  the 
mountains  above  here  yesterday,  and  that 
Stomp  swam  the  Tennessee  River  with  him 
like  a  deer.  When  I  had  Stomp  he  made  out 
like  I  ought  to  tote  him  up  the  hills,  and 
sometimes  got  mad  and  jumped  from  under 
me  if  I  didn't  dismount  and  let  him  walk 
along  behind  me  and  get  a  bite  of  grass  or 


140  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

leaves  every  few  steps.  But  the  boys  say  lie 
outran  the  wind  when  the  spy  was  on  him. 
You  see  how  it  is,  Mrs.  Donal;  mother  and 
the  girls,  and  pony  and  the  spies  and  all, 
throw  dust  in  my  eyes.  But  I'll  tell  a  secret 
the  girls  don't  wish  anybody  to  know  if  they 
don't  side  with  me  against  mother,  and  that 
pretty  soon.     They  think  I  don't  know  it." 

The  old  man's  face  twitched  Avith  fun  when 
he  noticed  the  rueful  looks  of  the  girls  at  his 
last  words.  Nor  was  it  long  before  Ellie  and 
Gertie  were  cozening  him  ever  so  slyly,  but 
persistently.  He  didn't  appear  to  know  they 
were  doing  so,  but  let  them  succeed,  for  pres- 
ently they  were  seen  on  the  rocks  over  the 
spring  scanning  the  address  of  a  letter  to- 
gether. It  appeared  to  have  turned  into  two 
when  opened,  for  when  next  noticed  each  was 
reading  a  letter  so  intently  as  obviously  to  be 
unconscious  of  any  thing  save  that  letter.  He 
appeared  not  to  observe  the  pretty  picture 
they  made  upon  the  gray,  mossy  rock  just 
then,  but  turned  his  cart  homeward,  leav- 
ing them  absorbed  in  their  letters'  thoughts. 


Gathering  of  the  Armies.  141 

Well  he  knew  that  it  was  only  a  question  of 
a  little  while  before  he  would  know  their  let- 
ters' contents  nearly  as  well  as  they,  for  Ellie 
could  and  Gertie  would  keep  nothing  from 
him.  Somehow  he  had  their  whole  heart, 
and  right  well  he  knew  it.  AVhen  their 
mother  and  Mrs.  Donal  joined  them  under 
the  leafy  beeches  shading  the  rocks,  they  told 
them  with  beaming,  wondering  eyes  of  the 
gathering  of  the  armies  "not  twenty  miles 
west  of  north  from  them,"  as  their  letters 
told  them. 

About  sundown  her  visitors  passed  out  of 
sight  across  the  eastern  ridge,  having  helped 
her  arrange  the  cabins,  as  her  new  home  was 
called;  then  she  and  the  tired  children  gath- 
ered at  the  table  for  supper;  then  prayers; 
and  soon  they  were  sleeping  the  sleep  of  inno- 
cence and  hope. 


CHAPTEt^  ^. 

The  Roar  as  of  Many  Thunders. 

THE  following  three  days  were  busy  days  at 
the  cabins.  The  boys  patched  the  roof  of 
the  old  stable,  made  stalls  in  it  for  Het  and 
Red,  built  a  shelter  to  one  side  of  it  for  the 
cart  of  the  strips  of  plank  and  boards  piled 
near,  stopped  the  cracks  in  the  loft,  and  cut 
and  hauled  wood  convenient  to  the  house. 
Their  mother  and  Edna  tidied  the  cabins  and 
the  yard  and  garden,  so  by  Saturday  night 
the  place  looked  renewed  and  cheerful;  and 
when  they  sung  and  prayed  to  God,  after  the 
Bible-lesson  that  night,  it  seemed  that,  like 
themselves,  earth  and  sky  were  full  of  restful- 
ness  and  hope. 

Sunday  dawned,  and  its  morning  broke  upon 
the  gray  mountains  like  some  soft-tinted  frag- 
ment of  the  heavens  caressing  summit  and 
ravine,  and  leaving  every  thing  in  smiles  and 

full  of  laughing  voices — voices  of  the  air  ocho- 

(M2) 


Tlie  Roar  as  of  Many  Thunders.         143 

ing  the  hosannas  of  tlie  sunsliine.  The  birds, 
with  flitting,  wings  and  tongues  of  melody, 
filled  the  shrubs  and  rocks  with  song;  the 
winds,  with  softened  touch,  played  anthems 
upon  the  tree-tops  for  organs;  the  squirrels, 
in  the  hickory  groves  on  the  hilly  sides 
of  the  gorge,  seemed  to  be  holding  a  camp^ 
meeting;  the  water  tumbling  off  the  rocks  at 
the  spring,  and  the  creek  flowing  over  the 
shoals,  gave  musical  greetings  to  the  sun- 
beams sifting  light  down  upon  every  thing. 
Edna  broke  into  song  as  she  went  to  the 
spring  for  water,  and  her  mother  took  up  the 
happy  notes  of  the  joyful  child.  Joe  and  Ben- 
ny caught  the  ecstasy  of  the  scene,  and,  in  the 
song  of  the  milk  that  Het  and  Ked  poured 
into  the  bowls  at  their  pressure,  joined  in  the 
hymn  of  nature  and  of  the  mother  and  child 
to  the  "Author  and  Giver  of  every  good  and 
perfect  gift." 

So  morning  was  spread  upon  the  mountains, 
and  amid  its  warmths  they  walked  to  the  old 
Eock  Church;  and  bright  noon  came,  and  even- 
ing, then  twilight  with  its  subdued  sounds, 


144  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  W<(r-times. 

wlion  iiiglit  put  all  nature  to  sleex^  iu  her  lull- 
ing, star-lit  Imsli. 

No  wonder  when  the  boys  woke  up  Monday 
morning  their  hearts  were  fresh  and  brave; 
and  ere  the  week's  close  they  had  harvested, 
on  shares,  hay  enough  in  the  larger  valleys 
to  fill  the  stable-loft,  and  had  sold  enough  to 
the  eager  towns-people  to  store  their  home 
with  plenty  until  Christmas;  and  working  day 
after  day  here  and  there,  at  this  and  that,  they 
constantly  filled  their  mother's  heart  with  joy 
and  her  hand  with  abundance.  It  was  soon 
noticed  too,  when  boxes  of  good  things  were 
sent  to  the  soldiers,  that  Mrs.  Donal's  offer- 
ing was  as  large  and  good  as  the  best;  and 
when  collections  were  taken  at  the  church  for 
army  missionary  and  other  causes,  she  and 
Edna  gave  liberally,  and  Joe  and  Benny  sit- 
ting together  whispered  to  each  other,  divided 
money  between  them,  and  threw  in  as  mucli 
as  most  of  the  men  did. 

And  so  their  new  life  in  their  new  home 
passed  on,  till  one  day  a  far-off,  hoarse  roar 
sounded    in    the   ravine;    then    another,   and 


The  Roar  as  of  Many  Thunders.  145 

anotlier,  and  many  another  struggled  over  the 
mountain  and  groaned  over  their  heads  as  it 
fell  down  and  rumbled  on  to  die  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  children  instinctively  huddled 
around  their  mother  and  hearkened  for  the 
strange  sounds  as,  like  muffled  thunders,  they 
came  hour  after  hour  down  to  them  in  the 
peaceful  nest  they  had  made  for  themselves 
after  the  lightning  of  man's  wrath  had  driven 
them  out  of  the  one  in  which  they  were  born 
and  nourished,  and  blessed  with  love's  sweet 
quiet  and  safety. 

Often  the  mother  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked 
intently  toward  the  fated  place  whence  the 
awful  sounds  came;  and  once  as  little  Edna, 
crouching  at  her  side,  lifted  her  brown  eyes,  so 
like  her  father's,  to  hers,  and  said,  "  AYhat  is 
it,  mother?  "  she  fell  to  the  floor,  limp  and  mo- 
tionless, and  pale  and  almost  breathless;  and 
the  children's  wails  woke  her  back  to  life,  and 
gathering  them  to  her  bosom,  she  said:  "It 
is  battle,  my  precious  ones,  battle!  Brave 
men  are  dying  now  over  there  where  the  roar 

starts;  heroes'  blood  is  reddening  the  ground, 
10 


IIG  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War4'unes 

and  sorrowful  voices  of  awful  pain  and  horror 
are  rising  up  to  heaven.  O  God,  spare  as 
many  as  thy  laws  can  admit  to  mercy!  O 
.spare  especially  James  and  brother  Jack  and 
Aunt  Hetty's  boys,  in  the  terrible  cruelties,  to 
see  us  again  in  peace!  " 

And  the  children  said,  *'Amen." 

"Aunt  Hetty's  boys" — these  were  Federals. 
How  the  heart  forgets  strifes  and  heeds  love's 
cries  when  mad  perils  pile  death  round  its  chos- 
en objects!  Though  not  of  kin,  she  was  as  one 
brought  up  on  the  same  bosom  that  had  nour- 
ished and  sheltered  "Aunt  Hetty's  boys,"  and 
from  out  the  battle's  fearsome  roar  she  heard 
their  voices  calling  her  "  Little  Sister  "  as  in 
the  play-days  of  early  childhood,  and  she  put 
them  before  God's  throne  for  the  same  mercy 
that  she  invoked  upon  her  Confederate  hus- 
band and  brother. 

They  clambered  up  the  mountain  and  went 
to  its  western  brink,  and  listened  to  the  roar 
as  of  many  thunders,  and  beheld  the  clouds  of 
smoke  and  dust  floating  up  toward  the  sky. 

It    was   September    19,   1863.     The    Con- 


The  Boar  as  of  Many  Thunders.  147 

federate  and  Federal  armies  of  a  liundred 
thousand  men,  under  Bragg  and  Eosecrans, 
had  joined  battle  on  the  wooded  plains  of 
Cliickamauga,  and  those  clouds  of  mingled 
smoke  and  dust— now  whitish,  now  dun,  now 
dark,  now  black;  there  thin,  there  thickening, 
there  dull  gray,  there  blue,  there  greenish  like 
the  vapors  above  the  cyclone;  resting,  mov- 
ing, quiet,  astir,  rushing  together,  breaking 
apart,  uniting,  covering  the  scene  of  blood 
and  death  like  a  pall  of  mockery — fixed  their 
gaze. 

An  hour  passed,  and  yet  another,  as  they 
grouped  together  on  the  brink  of  the  mount 
praying  and  hearkening  to  the  dread  fray  as 
the  shifting  winds  bore  to  them  now  less,  now 
more  of  the  far-off,  dismal  sounds. 

For  a  half-hour  Joe  had  stood  apart  from 
them,  now  watching  toward  the  roar,  then  to- 
ward them.  Presently  he  stepped  to  their 
side,  and  eagerly  said:  "Mother,  let  me  go 
there." 

"No — no!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  No,  that  fiery 
sea  has  victims  enough.     It  needs  not  that 


148  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  Wur-times, 

cLildren  bo  tlirown  into  its  burning  gulf  of 
groans  and  massacre." 

"  Mother,"  repeated  the  boy,  "  let  me  go." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  T7ould  be  lost  on  the 
way  or  killed  when  there.  You  must  stay  by 
us.  You  help  us  much;  there  you  could  only 
be  worse  than  useless,  or  certainly  slain." 

"You  read  yesterday,"  he  steadily  replied, 
*^  how  that  stripling  David  carried  to  his  broth- 
ers on  the  battle-field  loaves  of  bread  from 
home,  and  his  mother  let  him  go,  with  her 
blessing,  to  his  brothers.  Father  and  Uncle 
Jack  are  over  there,  for  the  sick  soldier  we 
nursed  last  week  told  us  he  knew  them,  and 
described  them  so  you  said  it  was  true.  They 
will  be  tired  out  by  night.  Let  me  carry 
them  some  good  things  you  cook  tn'th  your  own 
haucls.'" 

"Do,  mother,"  said  Edna;  "and  he  can  tell 
me  and  Benny  how  they  look  and  what  they 
said." 

"  No,"  said  Benny,  "  I  must  go  with  brother 
Joe." 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 


The  Roar  as  of  Many  Thunders.         1J:9 

cliildren  with  that  startled,  pale,  almost  fren- 
zied love-look  of  awesome  care  and  fear,  and 
Joe  said:  "  No,  Benny,  you  must  stay  and 
take  care  of  mother  and  Edna.  Mother,  let 
mo  go." 

She  clutched  Edna's  arm,  and,  starting  across 
the  mountain-crest  like  a  wounded  hind,  said: 
"  Home,  home." 

She  seemed  not  to  heed  the  sharp  stones 
and  thorns  and  scraggy  bushes  as,  like  a  pale 
ghost  of  a  woman,  she  hurried  over  the  path- 
less way  to  the  cabins.  Every  now  and  then 
she  stopped  long  enough  to  press  Benny  and 
Edna  to  her  bosom  and  kiss  them,  and  to  take 
hold  of  Joe  and  look  long  and  panting — full 
of  sobs — into  his  face,  and,  wordless,  dash  on 
again.  At  the  spring,  upon  the  rocks  above 
its  splash  and  murmur,  she  suddenly  halted, 
and  the  children  pitched  down  by  her  side  like 
a  covey  of  frightened  partridges  and  nestled 
close  to  her,  yet  not  close  enough,  for  she 
pnlled  them  nearer  still;  and  from  within  her 
disheveled  hair,  whose  full  length  hung  about 
her  shoulders,  her  tearless  eyes  shone  brightly 


150  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

yet  Avitli  strange  tenderness  upon  first  one, 
then  another,  then  the  other,  and  looked  np 
toward  God. 

AVe  shall  never  know  the  thoughts  t]iat 
mocked  her  brain,  the  passion's  power  that 
racked  her  heart,  in  that  weary  flight  across 
and  down  the  mountain.  But  God  knew,  and 
somehow  he  touched  his  troubled  child,  and 
she  clutched  Joe  and  covered  him  with  fervent 
kisses  and  showering  tears,  and  she  said:  "I 
will  let  you  go.  God  can  keep  you  safe.  You 
may  find  James  a-hungered  and  dying,  and  he 
will  bless  me  when  he  sees  you.  Come,  come 
to  the  cabins  now.  Fire,  boys,  fire;  something 
nice  for  your  father  that  our  own  hands  have 
made." 

Joe  leaped  like  a  hart  on  his  errand  of  fire- 
making;  Benny  sobbed,  but  said  no  more  about 
leaving  her  and  Edna  alone;  and  her  heart, 
like  a  sea  resting  after  a  storm,  seemed  calmer 
and  softer  and  sweeter  than  ever,  the  cliildren 
thought.  But  she  was  busy  here  and  there, 
and  while  the  bread  browned  in  the  ovens  she 
deftly  made  a  neat  haversack,  which,  wlien 


The  Roar  as  of  Many  Thunders  151 

filled  with  the  brown  loaves  and  hard  butter 
and  a  bottle  of  wine,  she  placed  about  Joe's 
shoulders,  and  said:  "Find  him,  son.  Tell 
him  I  love  him.  God  bless  him  forever!" 
And  taking  a  long,  yearning,  kissing  look  at 
him  all  over,  she  said:  "I  commit  you  to  our 
heavenly  Father.  Come  back  by  the  third 
night,  counting  this  one."  And  he  was  gone 
along  the  trail  over  the  mountain;  and,  pray- 
ing, they  watched  him  until  he  passed  out  of 
sight. 


CHAPTEfJ  XI. 

The  Boy  on  the  Battle-field. 

THE  glad  boy  went  bravely  on  to  the  battle. 
It  was  not  its  fears,  nor  its  dangers,  nor  its 
hopes,  nor  any  of  its  glories  that  he  was  think- 
ing of.  Over  there  in  its  thick  was  one  who 
was  bigger  than  the  battle's  cares  and  glories 
to  him — his  father,  w^hom  he  had  not  seen  in 
more  than  two  years.  He  often  thought  as  he 
trudged  along  that  he  saw  him  just  ahead  of 
him,  walking  slowly  so  he  could  overtake  him. 
But  it  was  only  imagination  playing  pranks 
upon  him,  and  he  seemed  to  step  the  quicker 
as  the  mental  vision  failed  him,  as  though  he 
were  just  out  of  sight  beyond  the  bend  in  the 
road  the  trail  had  entered.  And  night  came 
down  upon  him,  but  he  went  on,  doublo-quick- 
iiig  sometimes,  till  ascending  some  hills  he 
had  been  skirting  he  beheld,  there  and  yon- 
der, scattered  camp-fires  and  saw  llie  wliin- 
nying  horses  and  near  each  wagon  a  few  men 

wearing  ribbon  badges. 
(152) 


The  Boy  on  the  Battle-field.  153 

It  was  about  the  first  time  since  lie  left 
home  that  he  had  thought  of  himself;  for  all 
along  his  journey  he  had  been  busily  pur- 
suing the  battle's  roar,  that  got  louder  and 
louder  as  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  it, 
thinking  all  the  while  of  his  father,  with 
only  now  and  then  a  thought  of  his  Uncle 
Jack  and  a  few  others  he  knew  in  one  or  the 
other  army.  So  he  wondered  what  he  should 
do,  and  whether  they  were  friends  or  foes 
about  the  freshly  kindled  fires.  And  he  sat 
down  against  the  stunted  post-oak,  in  whose 
shadow  he  had  i^aused,  and  wished  he  were  a 
bird  to  fly  back  home  to  spend  the  night  and 
fly  back  to  tliis  little  hill  again  by  sunrise  the 
next  morning  to  resume  his  battle-march.  As 
he  thought  and  thought  and  watched,  a  sense 
of  utter  weariness  possessed  him,  though  no 
sense  of  being  tired  had  entered  his  mind  in 
all  his  eager  tramp.  The  battle  sounds  Avere 
hashed,  the  stamping  of  the  horses  aiid  voices 
of  the  men  at  the  wagons  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  to  his  ear,  and  then  were  quite  gone; 
the  camp-fires  Avere  dimmer  and  dimmer  and 


154  Jqs  :  A  Boy  in  the   War-times. 

went  out  to  liis  eyes,  and  the  sleeping  boy  lay 
stretched  out,  his  head  involuntarily  pillowed 
on  liis  haversack. 

The  grass-seeds  were  in  the  wrinkles  of  his 
trousers  that  he  had  rolled  up  so  as  to  walk 
freer  through  the  September  pastures  across 
which  he  had  struggled;  the  dirt  lay  in  streaks 
and  spots  on  his  face  and  hands  and  legs  as 
the  sweat  and  dust  of  his  push-ahead  travel 
had  mixed  upon  them;  and  his  old  wool  hat 
had  rolled  from  his  head  a  hand's-breadth 
away.  The  stars  twinkled  over  him,  the  bat- 
tle's smoke  enveloped  him,  the  winds  hummed 
and  frolicked  about  him,  the  dews  gathered 
upon  him,  the  owls  hooted  close  to  him;  and 
midnight  came,  and  day-break;  and  signal- 
guns  had  muttered  their  hoarse  calls,  and  the 
teams  and  teamsters  all  around  him  were 
awake  with  morning  noises;  but  the  boy  slept 
on,  and  toward  him  came  crouching  along  in 
t]ie  gray  light,  and  scenting  hither  and  tliither, 
a  scowling  dog  who  paused  beside  him  and 
sniffed  about  his  feet  and  hands  and  face,  and 
wagged  his  tail  and  stretched  out  by  his  side. 


The  Boy  on  the  Battle-field.  155 

resting  liis  mouth  between  his  forepaws,  watch- 
ing this  way  and  that,  every  now  and  then  lift- 
ing his  head  to  look  farther  away,  muttering 
low  growls,  inclining  his  ears  in  different  di- 
rections, and  stood  uj)  over  him  and  put  his 
cold  nose  on  the  boy's  cheek.  Waking  at  the 
touch,  Joe  put  up  his  hand  and  patted  the  dog 
and  said,  "Boone,  Boone  —  old  fellow,"  and 
sat  up. 

He  seemed  astonished  that  no  bed  was  under 
him,  no  cabin-roof  over  him.  But  as  Boone 
pranced  and  whined  around  him,  and  licked 
his  hands  and  took  a  clip  or  two  at  his  face, 
he  remembered  every  thing,  and  w^ondered 
how  Boone,  whom  he  had  left  blocked  at 
home,  came  to  be  there.  But  Boone  could 
not  tell  him  how  he  had  seen  him  climbing 
alone  up  the  mountain  above  the  spring,  and 
had  howled  and  howled  when  he  did  not  re- 
turn home  at  night,  till  Benny  had  loosed  him, 
and  how  much  trouble  he  had  had  tracing  out 
his  track  among  so  many  other  tracks  on  the 
way,  till  he  caught  up  with  him  a  few  minutes 
before. 


150  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  ]Var-ti/jics. 

Joe  ate  for  his  breakfast  the  luuchoon  his 
mother  had  given  him  for  supper,  every  now 
and  then  dividing  with  Boone  who  sat  in  front 
of  him  comfortably  panting,  with  his  tongue 
i)laying  hide-and-seek  between  his  teeth, 
watching  him  as  he  ate.  And  as  he  rose  up 
to  shake  all  the  scraps  of  bread  and  meat  on 
the  sward  for  Eoone,  a  white-bearded  man, 
crossing  the  hill  to  a  team  on  the  opx^osite 
side,  saw  him  and  came  through  the  thicket 
in  a  friendly  way  to  greet  him.  He  and  Boone 
and  the  old  Belief  Committeeman  were  good 
friends  at  once,  for  the  old  man  said,  after 
hearing  his  errand:  "I  am  going  near  the 
battle  right  away,  so  as  to  feed  the  soldiers 
every  chance  and  help  with  the  wounded. 
Come,  go  on  with  me." 

And  on  they  went — the  old  man  and  the 
flaxen -haired  boy  —  with  the  relief  stores, 
nearer  to  the  thunders,  which  were  again  i-oar- 
ing,  with  musketry  and  riHe  distinctly  hoard, 
just  ahead  of  them.  But  Avhen  the  wagons 
hnlted  the  boy  pushed  on  in  among  the  em- 
battled soldiers,  looking   and    asking  for  his 


The  Boij  on  the  Battle-field.  157 

father.  All  about  he  went,  as  though  no  bul- 
lets were  whizzing  above  and  about  him,  as 
though  no  bombs  were  shattering  trees,  rain- 
ing down  limbs,  and  bursting  whichever  way 
he  turned,  with  Boone  walking  or  trotting  at 
his  side. 

This  way  and  that,  down  this  flat,  across 
that  hill,  over  to  the  other,  along  its  crest 
among  the  rocks,  through  and  through  the 
woods  and  fields,  all  along  the  Confederate 
lines  the  happy-faced  boy  went,  asking  for  his 
father;  and  long  ere  mid-afternoon  hundreds 
of  brave  men  knew  him  and  Boone  and  his  er- 
rand, and  thought  to  inquire  of  this  one  and 
that  one,  of  the  wounded  and  sound,  of  the 
thirty-five  thousand  embattled  hosts  for  Cap- 
tain Donal,  hoping  to  tell  the  boy  when  they 
should  see  him  moving  here  and  there  again, 
and  wondered  how  he  had  escaped  death  all 
the  woful  day.  And  then  they  saw  him  no 
more  speeding  among  the  living  and  the 
dead — to  one  company  and  another — but  in 
front  of  them,  and  away  to  the  left,  they  heard 
the  howling  of  the  dog,  and  one  and  auothei^ 


158  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

said:  "The  boy  is  killed  at  last;  we  told  him 
so." 

The  boy  too  had  heard  the  howling,  and 
hurried  to  the  spot,  and  bent  over  a  dying 
young  soldier,  giving  him  water,  offering  to 
him  the  treasures  of  his  haversack,  saying: 
"Mother  cooked  it,  Frank;  and  she  said  you 
always  liked  it  so,  as  well  as  father.  Eat, 
Frank,  eat,  an'  you'll  be  stronger." 

And  the  soldier  said  faintly,  "  Yes,  Joe,  I 
know  —  I  know  —  ^Little  Sister' — God  bless 
her! "  and  fell  back  again  upon  the  leaves. 

And  Joe  thought  of  the  bottle  of  wine,  and 
put  it  to  Frank's  lips,  and  he  swallowed  a  pr>r- 
tion,  and  revived. 

The  tramp  of  the  soldiers  was  all  around 
him  now,  hurrying  forward,  for  the  victory 
was  won  and  the  Federals  Avere  sullenly  re- 
treating; and  among  the  first  that  passed  near 
the  spot  pursuing  was  a  tall,  dark  man,  him- 
self bleeding  and  weak,  but  managing  to  move 
forward,  who  felt  something  licking  his  hand, 
and  looking  down,  he  said,  "Old  Boone,  old 
Boone— you  here,  and  how?"  and  patting  the 


The  Boy  on  ihc  Ba1ile--fid(L  150 

glad  dog's  bead,  lie  pressed  on.  But  Boone 
looked  into  his  face  and  trotted  off  to  the  right 
and  looked  back  to  see  if  be  followed,  and 
returned  to  bim  and  gave  a  sharp  bark  and 
went  to  the  right  again;  and  the  soldier  turned 
squarely  around  after  bim,  and  in  a  score  of 
yards  be  understood  him,  for  be  saw  the  busy 
boy  bending  here  and  there  about  the  pros- 
trate Federal ;  and  be  scarce  could  believe  his 
eyes  and  ears  when  the  lad,  turning,  beheld 
him,  and  with  a  yell  of  delight  leaped  to  his 
arms,  and  he  said:  "Joe,  Joe,  my  lad!  So 
you  ai-e  the  boy  I  have  seen  several  times  to- 
day right  among  the  bullets  aiid  the  dead  as 
though  a  spell  was  upon  your  life." 

"Mother  let  me  come,"  he  replied,  "to 
find  you,  father,  and  bring  her  word;  and  I 
was  trying  to  help  Frank  Prenant,  bleeding 
there." 

In  a  moment  Captain  Donal  was  kneeling 
by  Frank  and  getting  him  to  drink  more  of 
the  wine.  He  baited  some  soldiers  as  they 
came  near,  and  said:  "  Boys,  the  fight  is  over; 
do  this  Federal  all  the  good  you  can  until  I 


100  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

come  back — keep  the  boy  with  you;"  and  he 
walked  on  again. 

But  soon  the  order  to  halt  overtook  him, 
and,  speaking  a  few  words  to  the  next  officer, 
he  made  what  speed  he  could  back  to  the 
Avounded  man,  who  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
him  when  he  drew  near,  and  said:  "Jimmy, 
it's  all  up  with  me.  Little  Joe  did  all  a  man 
could  have  done  for  me,  and  helped  much. 
Tell  Reeny  good-by  for  me;  and  let  father 
and  mother  know  how  I  died  with  my  face  to 
the  foe,  and  tell  mother  my  heart  is  all  right 
—  happy  for  the  next  world.  Jimmy,  kiss 
Little  Sister  good-by  for  me — good  b-b-b" — 
and  he  was  dead  in  the  instant — not  time 
enough  to  finish  saying  the  word  "by" 
■ — one  letter  said,  the  other  silent  on  his 
tongue  forever,  his  hands  clasping  Captain 
Donal's. 

That  night  Captain  Donal  and  Jack  Bes- 
mer,  with  little  Joe  between  them,  slept  near 
Frank  Prenant's  body,  and  Boone  lay  at  its 
feet. 

The  stars  glittering  about  in  the  skies,  the 


The  Boy  on  the  Battle-field.  161 

winds  whispering  among  the  shattered  trees, 
the  strange  hum  about  the  scattered  camp- 
fires  ou  the  battle-field,  the  dense  and  thin- 
ner haze  of  the  battle  floating  like  great  gray 
heai3s  of  smoke  above  and  about  him,  and  the 
voices  .of  his  father  and  uncle — now  reclining 
on  elbows  or  sitting  beside  him,  putting  ques- 
tions to  him  and  receiving  answers — kept  Joe's 
eyes  wide  open  until  blinking  midnight  came; 
and  he  knelt  between  them  and  whispered 
his  prayers  and  fell  asleep,  saying:  "Keep 
fa — father  an'  un — unker  Ja — Jack  safe  to  co 
— come  home  again  to  mo — mother  an'  us. 
A — amen."  And  the  tired  boy  drooped  limp 
along  the  earth  between  the  reverencing  war- 
riors, and  dreamed  boyhood's  wonders  until 
day-break. 

The  following  day  was  a  busy  one  with  the 
Eebels,  for  many  were  moving  to  and  fro  car- 
ing for  the  wounded,  burying  the  dead,  gath- 
ering arms  on  the  battle-field,  and  making 
anxious  inquiries  concerning  the  fate  of  miss- 
ing comrades.  Joe  was  excited  too,  hurrying 
here  and  there  among  the  soldiers,  but  at 
U 


1(32  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  W(tr-times. 

nine  o'clock  a.m.  lie  and  Boono  began  their 
march  homeward. 

Often,  along  the  return  route,  he  lost  many 
minutes,  for  men  and  women,  boys  and  girls, 
anxious  to  hear  all  he  knew  about  the  fearful 
battle,  plied  him  with  questions.  He  rested 
too,  now  and  then,  at  a  spring  or  branch  in 
the  woods  or  by  the  road-side,  yet  it  was  but 
an  hour  to  sunset  when  he  mounted  the  crest 
of  the  mountain  and  turned  down  its  side 
above  the  cabins. 

His  mother  was  the  first  to  see  his  slen- 
der form  coming  dow^n  the  zigzag  trail,  and 
her  heart  stood  almost  still  wdien  she  descried 
him,  for  love's  fears  tried  to  make  her  believe 
the  worst — that  her  husband  and  brother  had 
been  slain  in  the  battle,  and  that  Joe  himself 
Avas  sick  or  wounded.  When  he  saw  her 
watching  him  from  the  mass  of  rocks  near 
the  spring,  and  Benny  and  Edna  clambering 
up  the  trail  meeting  him,  he  hallooed  and 
huzzaed,  bounding  down  the  steep  like  a  deer; 
yet  she  could  not  believe  it  was  good  news  the 
boy  was  bringing  to  her.     But  his  first  cry  as 


The  Boy  on  the  Battle-field.  163 

he  paused  to  regain  Ins  breath,  so  rapidly  had 
he  been  flying  down  the  steep,  "I've  seen  'em! 
I've  seen  'em!  both  well!  letters,  letters!"  set 
her  heart  beating  with  rapture,  and  the  cabins 
were  like  palaces  to  her. 


CHAPTEJ^  XII. 

A  Despairing  Mother's  Joy. 

MRS.  DONAL'S  happiness  stopped  not  the 
wrath  of  man — only  God  can  do  that.  The 
war  raged  on. 

Not  many  weeks  had  elapsed  after  Joe's  re- 
turn from  the  Rebel  victories  at  Chickamauga 
ere  regiment  after^  regiment,  defeated  by  the 
Federals  at  Missionary  Ridge,  poured  througli 
the  valley  west  of  the  narrow  mountain,  retreat- 
ing on  Dalton. 

Hour  after  hour  she  and  the  children  had 
stood  over  against  the  mill,  giving  food  to  the 
hungry  soldiers  as  they  passed,  watching  and 
inquiring  in  vain  for  Captain  Donal  and  Jack 
Besmer. 

Hope  deferred  had  made  her  sad  indeed,  as 

one  company  after  another  crossed  the  creek, 

till  her  eyes  rested  with  wild  eagerness  upon 

one  more  haggard  than  the  rest,  and  she  tossed 

her  clasped  hands  heaven waid,  swooning,  limp 
(ir>i) 


A  Despairing  Mother's  Joy.  165 

and  pale  with  joy,  to  the  ground.  But  a  tall, 
dark  man  and  a  slenderer  one  were  leaping, 
leaping  to  her  prone  form,  and  amidst  their 
showering  caresses  she  greeted  them  with  ec- 
stasy, exclaiming,  "O  thank  God,  you  both 
live,  and  we  meet  again!  "  The  children  hung 
about  their  necks,  Aveeping  glad  tears.  A  griz- 
zled old  general  who  beheld  the  scene  lifted 
his  hat  in  reverencing  salute,  and  ordered 
Captain  Donal's  company  to  deploy  around 
the  group.  Writing  a  few  words  on  a  card,  he 
dropped  it  in  the  lieutenant's  hand  and  rode 
gloomily  on.  A  good  great  man  does  gentle 
deeds  nicely,  and  that  card  recorded  such  a 
deed.     It  read : 

Captain  Donal :  I  salute  you.  Stay  as  long  as  you  can. 
Several  hours  will  be  safe ;  but  forward  in  the  retreat  in 
time  to  escape  capture  with  your  comj^any.  Meanwhile 
if  fighting  occurs  near,  take  part  in  it. 

Pretty  soon  the  tattered  company — war-worn 
heroes  of  great  battles — filed  up  that  "dim 
road  "  along  the  gorge,  piloted  by  the  children 
to  the  cabins.  Mrs.  Donal,  having  arranged 
with  others  to  take  her  place  in  dispensing  food 


166  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times, 

to  the  passing  veterans,  hurried  after  them 
excited  and  happy.  And  when  Boone,  who 
had  gone  forward  with  the  soldiers  and  chil- 
dren, missing  her,  came  loping  back  and  fell 
at  her  feet,  rolling  over  in  frolic  and  joy,  she 
clapped  her  hands  in  answering  glee  till  the 
birds  flitted  and  chirped  in  the  bushes,  whither 
they  had  taken  refuge  from  the  army's  tumult- 
uous march. 

Once  at  the  cabins,  and  sentinels  posted, 
all  gave  themselves  to  preparations  for  a 
home-like  dinner.  Albeit,  ere  it  was  over  it 
appeared  to  be  a  festival  to  them.  The  long 
tables  of  flat  fence-rails  improvised  on  the 
sunny  side  of  the  larger  cabin,  were  furnished 
with  Edna's  pig  roasted  and  in  big  pies,  and 
Benny's  fat  'possums  flanked  with  potatoes, 
and  pecks  of  baked  apples,  and  biscuits  with 
milk  and  butter  and  eggs  and  chickens,  and 
sassafras  tea  without  sugar.  "It's  like  a  wed- 
ding smile,"  said  one  of  the  thirty  soldiers  as 
they  gathered  about  the  table  of  rails;  and  the 
children  dashed  merrily  in  and  out  among 
them,  handing  them  every  thing  they  could. 


A  Despairing  Mothcfs  Joy.  1G7 

The  sun  iu  the  west  was  fringing  the  trees 
on  the  top  of  the  mountain  with  a  golden  glare, 
and  tossing  through  the  gaps  upon  them  wave- 
lets of  red  rays  when  they  crossed  the  creek, 
pressing  again  along  the  line  of  retreat  south- 
ward. 

War's  exactions  seemed  intolerably  cruel 
to  the  family,  and  the  halt  of  the  soldiers 
with  them  like  a  hurried  dream  of  medleys  as 
they  formed  into  line  and  resumed  the  battle- 
march  again. 

Indeed,  war  is  savagery. 

Before  you  are  as  old  as  David  when  his 
strength  abated,  if  you  and  all  enlightened 
persons  will  insist  upon  it,  thenceforth  reason 
and  grace  will  force  the  sons  of  strife  whose 
lusts  lead  to  war  to  settle  their  disputes  by 
mental  instead  of  by  metal  arbitrament.  The 
birth-song  of  Jesus  was,  "Peace  on  earth." 
The  earth  is  his,  and  the  fullness  thereof;  and 
rulers  and  peoples  must  submit  to  him,  the 
King  of  Peace.  Then,  peace  to  them  forever! 
And  peace  is  Eden  come  to  life  again. 

But  war  was  now,  and,  however  sad  to  do 


1G8  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

so,  we  must  move  along  in  its  better  or  Lad 
scenes,  led  by  our  narrative. 

Mrs.  Donal  and  Edna  had  watched  the 
company  till  it  was  lost  to  sight,  and  then  had 
watched  Joe  and  Benny,  who  had  gone  on 
with  it  around  a  point  that  stretched  out  into 
the  valley,  tramping  back.  A  holy  calm  was, 
somehow,  in  her  soul  amidst  the  warlike  scenes 
of  the  day,  though  they  were  scenes  of  defeat 
and  retreat  to  the  cause  she  loved  with  her 
whole  heart.  But  not  every  thing  we  love  and 
is  true  succeeds.  Disaster  comes  even  to  the 
good  in  nature.  Sweet  earth's  bosom,  fall  of 
jewels  and  fruits  and  flowers  for  us,  is  rent 
by  earthquakes.  The  fair-faced  sky,  serenely 
sifting  blessings  down  upon  us,  is  gloomed  by 
drear,  fitful  storms,  and  humanity's  great  Chief 
— the  Lord  Christ — toiled  unthanked  and  de- 
spised, his  baptism  not  one  of  glory,  but  of  dis- 
aster and  blood,  abandoned  by  man  and  even 
by  God  in  his  last  wailing  prayer  of  his  piti- 
less death.  Yet  he  finished  the  work  whereto 
he  was  sent — to  save  us  from  death.  So  why 
should  not  his  servants,  like  Mrs.  Donal,  enter 


A  Despairing  Mother  s  Joy.  IGO 

with  any  weight  of  wrong  and  sorrow  into  his 
rest,  calmly  submitting,  trusting  without  ques- 
tion that  he  will  even  bring  good  to  them 
out  of  evil.  So  she  felt;  and  turning  back 
to  the  cabins  with  the  children,  she  thought 
hopefully  of  what  her  husband  had  told  her 
that  day:  "Best  stay  here,  Eeeny,  though  th-is 
section  now  lies  between  the  armies,  and  may 
soon  be  quite  within  the  Federal  lines." 

But  amidst  her  trusting  she  was  next  day 
startled  by  peals  of  artillery  and  rifles  and 
musketry,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  mount- 
ain. Booms  on  booms  were  piled,  until  it 
seemed  to  her  they  were  rising  up  over  the 
reverberating  ridge,  like  billows  of  the  deep 
in  tremendous  commotion,  to  break  down  upon 
her  helpless  head  in  utter  destruction.  So 
the  fearsome  battle  roared  upon  the  top  and 
farther  side  of  the  mountain,  and,  in  its  terrors, 
she  knew  that  while  she  shuddered  here  hun- 
dreds of  brave  men  were  mangled  and  groan- 
ing there  in  death's  most  horrid  shapes.  What 
could  she  do?  Pray  and  wait,  wait  and  pray, 
till  this  calamity  too  should  overpass. 


170  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

And  when  the  din  had  grown  less  and  less 
and  Goased,  there  came  clambering  along  the 
mountain-side  now  a  straggling  man  in  gray, 
then  a  score  or  more,  and  yet  many  more,  but 
all  were  heading  to  the  point  south  of  the  cab- 
ins, and  disappeared  down  the  Dalton  road; 
and  she  knew  that  Hooker's  troops  had  been 
-  tossed  back  from  the  ridge  to  Chattanooga 
by  Cleburne's  heroic  division,  which  was  now 
hastening  to  rejoin  the  main  army  near  Dal- 
ton, Only  three  had  taken  the  cabins  in  their 
route,  and  one  of  these  was  left  to  her  care, 
too  feeble  from  painful  injuries  to  march 
farther.  In  dressing  his  wounds  and  watch- 
ing him  through  the  night,  handy  Joe  help- 
ing, she  w^as  kept  from  brooding  over  the 
tempestuous  troubles  that  were  thickening 
about  her. 

The  silence  of  the  night  was  a  strange  con- 
trast to  the  resounding  stir  of  the  last  few  day? 
In  the  hush  upon  every  thing  even  the  leave? 
in  the  overhanging  trees  were  too  sleepy  to 
rustle,  and  when  a  cricket's  chirping  upon 
the  hearth  where  the  coals  smoldered  greeted 


A  Despairing  Mother's  Joy.  171 

her  she  was  startled  as  though  a  special  peril 
had  broken  into  the  house;  and  she  smiled  as 
she  thought,  in  the  moment,  how  needless  the 
alarm  had  been.  But  how  great  the  tension  on 
soul  and  body  all  the  day  to  her,  torn  by  the 
griefs  of  love  and  fear!  Yet  she  watched  and 
nursed  till  day-break,  when  the  soldier  in  his 
weakness  quieted  himself  like  a  weaned  child, 
and  slept  without  the  starts  and  exclamations 
that  had  made  the  night  full  of  care  to  her. 

Sunrise  pinked  the  mountain-tops,  and  the 
frighted  quails,  scattered  by  yesterday's  up- 
roar, whistled  to  one  another  and  gathered  into 
coveys  again;  the  shattered  ether,  healed  by 
the  magic  wand  of  night,  wrapped  the  heights 
and  little  hills  in  bluest  tints,  and  under  its 
smoky  mantles  the  old  rocks  seemed  to  be  nod- 
ding and  dreaming  among  the  sleeping  trees; 
and  in  the  light,  and  amidst  the  trysting  calls 
of  the  birds'  loves,  and  the  dozing  of  the  rocks 
and  trees  in  the  ether,  the  watched  and  his 
watchers  slept. 

An  old  woman,  poorly  though  tidily  clad, 
wrinkled  by  care,   and  of  tottering  step,   so 


172  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

weak  and  pale  and  fragile  that  the  floating 
white  hair  of  her  beautiful  old  head  seemed 
too  great  a  burden  for  her  bowed  form,  came 
softly  to  the  house  of  silence,  and  looking  in 
drew  back  quickly,  for  she  thought  that  the 
pale  mother  leaning  against  the  wall  had  died 
with  her  dead  boy's  head  in  her  lap.  And  she 
shuddered  and  sat  upon  the  door^sill  almost  as 
quiet  as  the  x^allor  upon  their  faces,  and  waited, 
weeping,  to  gather  strength  of  heart  and  limb 
to  touch  the  wan,  unbreathing  woman  sitting 
there,  like  the  dead,  in  the  chair.  But  another 
spell  was  upon  her  that  helped  to  overcome  this 
new-boded  evil — the  spell  of  affrighted  love 
yearning  to  be  appeased;  and  she  crept  to  the 
unconscious  mother,  and  whispered:  "Reeny, 
Pteeny  Donal,  I  have  co — co — come."  But  she 
could  speak  no  more  for  her  sobbing;  and 
tired  and  desolate,  near  desperate  despair,  she 
touched  the  soft  hand  resting  on  the  boy's 
flaxen  head;  and  Mrs.  Donal  said,  "  What  is  it, 
Joe?"  and,  turning  his  head  in  another  posi- 
tion on  her  lap,  Avas  asleep  again.  The  poor 
old  anxious  woman  bent   down   at   her   side 


A  Despairing  Mother's  Joy.  173 

and  waited,  as  only  tlie  broken-hearted  poor 
can  wait,  in  hope  of  help  and  corofort. 

But  presently  the  mother,  startled  by  a  sigh, 
from  the  other  room  it  seemed,  rose  up,  every 
sense  now  fully  alive,  and  was  about  to  walk 
softly  there,  when  her  notice  was  arrested  by 
the  figure  crouching  at  her  chair.  She  knelt 
down  beside  it  and  said:  "  What^r^r  can  I  do 
for  you,  mother?  any  thing,  every  thing  I  can. 
Sit  here.  Don't  talk  till  you  rest.  You  look 
60  tired." 

The  old  lady  yielded  to  her  like  a  child. 
Giving  her  some  wine  at  once,  Mrs.  Donal 
roused  Joe,  who  kindled  the  fire  to  a  blazing 
warmth. 

The  fire's  heat  and  the  wine  and  the  wine 
of  kindness  revived  her  visitor,  and  she  said: 
'*We  have  met  at  the  Eock  Church,  Keeny 
Donal,  where  everybody  knows  you.  A  sol- 
dier sent  me  here.  He  told  me  you  would  help 
me  find  Jesse  where  he  was  shot  on  the  mount- 
ain yesterday,  if  they  hadn't  buried  him. 
He  is  all  I  had  left  to  me.  His  two  brothers 
were  killed  at  the  Murfreesboro  battle,  and 


174  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-thncs. 

now  Jesse  is  gone.  Kone!  no  son,  no  child 
now!  Say,  will  you  help  me  find  him  ?  I'm  so 
forsaken,  so  friendless.  I  have  nothing  to  re- 
pay you  for  it.  But  I  can  work,  I  can  work 
yet;  and  will — will,  all  my  days  for  you,  if  you 
will  help  me  find  Jesse's  body.  I  wa — want — 
I  do  so  want  to  see  his  fa — face  once  more." 

Mrs.  Donal  had  said  again  and  again,  "  Yes, 
O  yes,  yes,"  as  the  old  lady  was  speaking,  but 
she  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  and  now  she  add- 
ed: "We'll  have  breakfast  at  once,  and  then 
we'll  go.  We  shall  find  him.  Don't  think  we 
shall  not,  mother." 

And  while  she  busied  about  her  breakfast 
the  old  lady  sat  like  one  frozen  while  wide 
awake,  so  still  she  was,  so  far  away  her  eyes 
seemed  to  be  looking.  But  when  the  wounded 
soldier  in  the  other  room  said,  "A  little  water, 
please,"  she  clasped  her  hands  and  whispered, 
as  a  fearful  paleness  w*as  in  her  face:  "He 
spoke  then — Jesse's  ghost.  Say,  did  you  hear 
him?  wants  water.  Do  you  think  he  went  to 
hell — Jesse?  I've  prayed  and  prayed  for  him 
■ — he  an't  there,  is  he— in  the  bad  place?  " 


A  Despairing  Mothefs  Joy.  175 

"  O  no,  no!  "  said  Mrs.  Donal.  "  Our  Father 
in  heaven  hears  prayers,  especially  a  mother's 
prayers,  my  husband  says." 

"I  know,  I  knoAv,"  whispered  the  old  lady; 
"but  that  was  his  ghost— I  know  his  voice — 
asking  so  pitifully  for  water  just  now.  Say, 
do  you  think  I  can  carry  some  to  hell  for 
him?  Poor  boy,  poor  boy!  I  would  go  there 
for  him.  Do  you  think  God  will  let  me?  I 
live  eastward  among  the  ridges  thereaway, 
child,  thereaway,  and  I  could  tell  little  Jess 
that  I  had  seen  his  papa,  when  I  got  back 
from— from  the— the  other  world." 

Keeny's  heart  almost  failed  for  grief  at  the 
drear  delusion  of  the  crushed  old  mother, 
crazed  by  love's  woes.  *'But,"  she  thought, 
"  the  wounded  soldier,  whose  voice  she  recog- 
nized a  minute  ago  as  that  of  her  son's  ghost, 
may  prove  to  be  the  son  she  mourns  as  dead;  " 
and  going  softly  to  him  with  a  cup  of  water, 
said,  as  he  drank,  ''Have  you  a  mother  and 
little  boy  living?" 

He  took  the  cup  from  his  lips,  and  replied: 
"  Yes,  among  the  knobs  a  few  miles  off —the 


176  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-time!^. 

best  of  mothers,  and  dear  little  motherless 
Jess." 

Repressing  a  sub  of  joy,  she  said:  "I  think 
she  is  in  the  other  room.  One  is  there  who 
lost  two  sons  in  the  Murfreesboro  battle. 
She  is  seeking  her  only  one  now  who  a  sol- 
dier has  told  her  was  killed  on  this  mountain 
yesterday — Jesse." 

He  quivered  down  upon  the  pillow,  saying: 
"  It  is  two  years  since  she  has  seen  me,  and 
my  little  boy's  sweet  young  mother  died  in 
her  arms  not  six  weeks  ago." 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  "  be  very  patient  just  a 
little  while.  She  is  undone  by  anxiety  and 
overexertion  now.  She  could  not  endure  see- 
ing you  just  yet.  The  revulsion  from  despair 
to  such  joy  might  kill  her." 

Soothing  the  grieving  old  visitor,  she  soon 
prepared  breakfast;  and  immediately  after  she 
ate,  the  old  mother  said:  "Come,  come,  we 
must  go  after  him  now.     Come." 

"Mother,"  said  Mrs.  Donal,  "you  are  in 
such  a  flurry.  We  will  find  your  Jesse  alive, 
and  nurse  him  together,  may  be,  if  you  will 


A  Despairing  Mothefs  Joy.  177 

just  be  quiet  and  not  get  into  a  flurry  about 
him." 

"Flurry,  child,"  she  repeated,  quieting  in 
the  instant,  "flurry!  That's  the  very  word  he 
used  to  say  to  me  when  he  was  a  boy,  if  I  got 
pestered  about  things.  But  you  get  ready; 
you'll  see  I  can  be  patient.  Get  ready,  child, 
get  ready!     Quick — hurry,  hurry^!  " 

"There  now,  mother,"  she  quietly  answered, 
"  you  are  nearly  in  a  flurry  again.  You  take 
on  exactly  as  if  he  wasn't  alive.  Be  just  as 
though  he  was  coming  to  the  house  for  dinner, 
from  working  in  the  field,  and  you  wanted  him 
to  have  a  good  time  resting.  The  soldier  who 
sent  you  here  was  mistaken.  Your  son  is  not 
dead.     He  is  alive — only  wounded." 

The  old  mother's  eyes  softened,  her  face 

took  on  a  deeper  pallor  than  ever,  then  flushed 

just  a  little,  and  she  said:    "Alive,  alive!  O 

you  can't  mean  that!    He  said  he  saw  him  shot 

down  yesterday  in  the  Cleburne  fight,  on  this 

mountain — killed.     Jesse  alive!     O   joy,  joy! 

But  no,  not  so,  not  alive.     Dead." 

Mrs.  Donal  knew  not  what  to  say.     All  the 
12 


]78  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

eagerness  of  supreme  motherhood — believing 
yet  questioning,  ready  to  perish  yet  hoping 
for  its  last  child,  accounted  dead,  to  revive  its 
•life  by  saying  "mother"  again — stood  before 
her  as  a  corpse,  yet  quivering  with  a  misty 
hope;  in  the  depths  yet  fluttering  ever  so  little, 
its  stricken  wings  pluming  for  flight  into  a 
heaven  of  joy;  and  yet  certainty  of  that  j(>y 
might  be  the  surest,  quickest  bolt  of  death  to 
her  overwrought,  tortured  life;  but  Eeeny  said 
very  tenderly,  yet  with  seeming  indifference: 
"Yes,  mother,  I  do  mean  alive;  but  in  the 
other  room  I  have  a  hurt  soldier  I  wish  you 
to  comfort  some  before  we  go.  But  you  will 
take  on  so,  you  are  so  impatient,  so  anxious, 
you  Avill  give  him  a  backset;  he's  much  better 
to-day;  he  knows  you,  and  if  yoa  are  very, 
very  quiet  he  will  tell  you  all  about  your  son, 
who  he  knows  was  wounded  and  will  soon  get 
well  and  see  you." 

She  quivered  down  into  her  chair,  and  be- 
lieved, and  the  peace,  peace  of  trust  and  hope, 
made  her  face  beautiful  to  behold;  and  there 
was  a  strange,  soft  melody  in  her  voice  as  she 


A  Despairing  Mother's  Joy.  179 

said:  "I  will  wait,  child,  wait.  May  be  I  can 
comfort  that  hurt  soldier  a  little;  I'll  try,  I'll 
try  for  Jesse's  sake;  then  we'll  go.  Not  killed, 
wounded,  alive,  alive!  If  I'm  right  quiet,  no 
flurry,  when  I  see  the  soldier,  will  you  go  right 
to  Jesse  with  me?  He  wrote  to  me,  from 
Lookout  Point,  that  I  should  see  him  again, 
for  when  he  prayed  his  heart  told  him  so. 
But  ah  me!  I'm  so  mistrusting,  so  mistrust- 
ing, and — and  flurried." 

"Never  mind  it  now,"  said  Mrs.  Donal; 
"just  be  right  composed,  so  you  won't  excite 
him,  when  you  find  him  wounded  and  weak; 
and  be   sure  not   to  cry  if  I  find  him   for 

you." 

"Cry,  child,  cry!"  she  said.  "Why,  if  I 
could  see  him  just  alive,  I'd  be  so  strong  and 
glad  I  couldn't  cry.  You'll  see,  you'll  see,  if 
you'll  only  find  him  for  me." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Donal,  helping  her  to 
rise  from  the  chair,  "now  be  strong.  Listen. 
That  was  Jesse's  voice  you  heard  asking  for 
water,  but  in  the  other  room,  not  in  the  bad 
place.     Come  to  him  now.     You  may  nurse 


180  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  W(ir-timcs. 

him  to  sleep,  if  you  will  be  sure  not  to  get  iu 
a  flurry." 

She  was  pushing  the  door  open  as  she  ut- 
tered the  last  words,  and  she  felt  the  old 
mother  flit  from  her  like  a  flower  falling  from 
her  hands;  and,  sure  enough,  she  had  fallen, 
but  on  her  knees  at  the  soldier's  pillow,  hold- 
ing his  head,  both  weeping  very  quietly;  and 
she  left  them  to  themselves,  and  told  Joe  and 
Benny  that  they  might  spend  the  day  on 
the  mountain. 

The  visitor  was  another  being  when  she 
came  to  Mrs.  Doual  in  the  yard  an  hour  later, 
and  said:  "His  fever  is  very  slight  now,  and 
he's  sleeping  soundly."  Smiles  were  in  her 
eyes  and  lips  and  ways.  She  appeared  to  have 
grown  twenty  years  younger  since  earl}'  morn- 
ing, and  fresh  and  bright  —  a  delightful  mid- 
dle-aged Christian  matron,  graced  with  ease 
and  self-poise,  the  opposite  of  her  morning's 
self,  except  as  to  resolution.  For  she  said: 
"I  must  have  him  home  by  night;  can  hide 
him  better  there.  The  Federals  will  be  all 
through  here  any   time,   he   says,    and   send 


A  Despairing  Mother  s  Joy.  181 

him  prisoner  to  the  North  if  they  find  him. 
He'll  be  ready  for  the  front  again  in  a  few 
weeks." 

In  the  afternoon  he  was  crossing  the  ridge 
eastward,  mounted  upon  a  sedate  mule  that 
the  old  farmer  who  owned  the  ca-bins  had 
loaned  to  him. 


CHAPTEf^  XIII. 

A  Rare,  Brave,  Gentle  Lad. 

SHE  was  not  startled  when  she  saw  the  bo3'S 
and  Boone  later  in  the  afternoon  coming 
down  the  roountain  with  a  hop,  skip,  and  a 
jump — a  kind  of  break-neck  speed.  She  knew 
that  boys  and  dogs  on  a  vacation  picnicked  in 
their  own  way,  and  that  the  way,  if  it  did  not 
kill  them,  enlivened  their  blood  till  it  jumped 
and  leaped  and  made  them  do  rare  things  in 
a  rare  way — their  way.  But  when  she  heard 
Joe  panting  near  her,  and  beheld  his  wide 
eyes,  she  kueAv  that  the  boy  had  something  to 
J  tell.  His  story  was  short,  however  exciting  it 
proved.  He  said:  "  Boone  barked  and  howled 
up  yonder  just  now,  and  when  we  went  to  see 
there  was  a  man  in  a  thicket  trying  to  scuffle 
up,  but  couldn't  —  covered  witli  blood.  He 
l)ointed  to  his  mouth  and  then  to  his  can- 
teen. AVe  thought  he  was  dying  and  wanted 
water,  so  we  brought  his  canteen  along." 

(1S2)  .       ^ 


A  Hare,  Brave,  Gentle  Lad.  183 

"  What  uniform?  "  she  asked. 

"  Got  none,"  he  replied  —  "  every  -  day 
clothes." 

"Go,"  she  said,  after  thinking  a  moment; 
"fill  the  canteen  and  a  jug  with  water  from 
the  spring.  I  will  come  by  there."  Then  rap- 
idly gathering  articles  useful  for  the  wounded, 
she  and  the  children  hurried  up  the  mountain. 

It  chanced  to  be  a  fair,  warm  evening  for 
the  season,  and  they  soon  arrived  at  the  thicket. 
A  glance  told  Mrs.  Donal  who  the  sufierer 
was,  and  gently  as  possible,  after  giving  him 
w^ater  and  wine,  she  fed  him  with  milk  and 
bread.  The  delirium  in  which  she  found  him 
gave  place  to  lucid  intervals  after  awhile,  till 
soon  he  was  in  his  right  mind,  but  not  before 
she  had  dressed  his  w'ounds,  and  with  special 
care  the  ragged  one  across  the  back  of  the 
neck,  which,  she  thought,  seemed  to  have 
harmed  him  more  than  the  one  in  his  side — 
that,  she  reasoned,  having  affected  his  spinal 
nerves,  caused  his  helplessness  more  than  the 
pain  and  loss  of  blood  from  both.  The  sun 
w^as  setting  in  a  cloud  of  pink  and  blue  when 


184  Joe:  A  lioij  in  the    Wur-timcs. 

lie  woke  from  a  short,  restful  sleep;  and  fixing 
his  patient  eyes  upon  her  face,  a  glad  look 
broke  over  every  feature  of  his  own.  She 
said:  "  We  will  do  every  thing  we  can  for 
you — the  children  and  I.  You  are  the  Federal 
scout  that  gave  us  such  timely  help  in  our 
trouble  up  in  Tennessee.  I  know  you  by  the 
Bcar  across  your  brow.  Can  you  tell  us  what 
is  best  to  do  for  you?  " 

He  perceptibly  shook  his  head;  and  sitting 
on  the  rocks  they  watched  him  there,  keeping 
the  bandages  in  place,  cooling  his  face,  keep- 
hig  his  head  upon  the  pillow  and  his  form 
upon  the  woolen  spread  that  Joe  had  run  back 
for,  and  remaining  utterly  still  when  he  slept. 

The  boys  fell  asleep  propped  against  the 
rocks,  and  Edna,  huddled  down  between  them, 
looked  like  a  big  snow-flake  dreaming.  Nor 
could  Mrs.  Donal  help  going  to  slee^),  worn 
out  by  the  terrible  excitements  and  sleepless- 
ness of  the  two  last  days  and  nights.  Yet  her 
sleep  was  uneasy— in  snatches-  for  a  motion 
Df  the  children  would  arouse  her,  or  a  groan 
m-  a  delirious  word  of  the  sufferer.     In  tlie 


A  Hare,  Brave,  Gentle  Lad.  1S5 

moonliglit  she  could  see  the  deathlike  hue  re- 
ceding aud  the  rising  color  tinging  his  cheeks. 
She  feared  to  make  a  fire,  lest  an  enemy  she 
knew  not  might  be  guided  to  the  spot;  so  she 
watched  and  nursed  and  shivered  and  slept  on 
top  of  the  mountain  far  into  the  November 
night,  till  Joe  became  wide  awake  and  stood 
up  by  her  side.  The  boy  was  wiser  and  braver 
than  she  thought,  for  he  said:  "It  is  too  cold 
here  for  you  and  the  children,  mother.  Go 
home  with  them,  please.  I  will  watch  the 
Federal  till  breakfast,  and  do  every  thing  for 
him  if  you  will  teach  me  before  you  go." 

And  he  pleaded  till  the  scout,  awakened 
by  the  whispering,  and  catching  its  im^oort, 
said  as  cheerily  as  he  could:  "  The  boy's  voice 
reminds  me  of  his  father's.  You  see  I  can 
talk  and  think  right  now — getting  better  fast. 
He's  right.  All  go  to  your  home — no  need  of 
this  exposure.  I  gather  strength  every  mo- 
ment. You  will  all  die  of  pneumonia  nursing 
me  here.  I  shall  be  best  satisfied  now  if  you 
will  go  home.  You  all  have  nearly  cured  me, 
you  see,  already.     I  believe  I  can  walk." 


380  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-tunes. 

She  knew  his  claim  of  strength  was  much 
overwrought  by  his  courtesy,  but  she  discerned 
that  to  abide  in  the  chilling  air  would  be  dis- 
astrous  to  them  probably,  and  make  the  suf- 
ferer anxious;  so  consenting  to  go,  she  said: 
"Joseph  will  return  at  once  with  a  covering 
for  you,  and  stay  by  you  till  morning.  He 
will  not  fear,  Boone  keeping  him  comjoany— 
you  will  find  him  handy." 

"No,"  said  the  scout,  "no  use — not  a  bit  of 
use  to  expose  Joe." 

"I'd  rather  stay  than  not,"  said  Joe;  "it 
wall  be  just  fun  for  me." 

A  ripple  of  humor  spread  upon  the  suffer- 
er's face  at  Joe's  thought  of  fun  in  the  last 
phrase,  and  Mrs.  Donal  quickly  added:  "Yes, 
and  I  must  have  my  way  about  this;  it  is 
best." 

They  withdrew  to  the  cabins,  whence  Joe 
and  Boone  soon  returned  with  warm  spreads, 
and  snugly  covered  him  from  the  nipping  frost 
that  was  rapidly  gathering  on  the  height.  He 
increased  in  strength  every  hour,  and  soon  had 
use  of  his  liml)s  as  the  nervous  shock,  occa- 


A  Bare,  Brave,  Gentle  Lad.  187 

sioned  by  the  woiiikI  back  of  his  head  and 
neck,  passed  away.  The  next  morning  she 
renewed  the  dressing  of  his  w^ounds  with  ex- 
ceeding care  and  supplied  him  with  proper 
diet,  while  Joe  slept  and  slept  all  the  day 
long;  but  when  night  came  again,  he  was 
ready  for  his  vigils  up  there,  closer  to  the 
stars  than  usual. 

It  was  after  midnight  when  a  Federal  troop 
rode  up  to  the  cabins  and  demanded  supper. 
There  w^ere  ten  of  them,  and  she  placed  be- 
fore them  what  ready  cooked  food  she  had, 
wdth  plenty  of  milk.  They  had  searched  the 
premises  closely,  and  soon  became  threatening 
and  boisterous.  Luckily  in  her  fright  she 
thought  of  the  scout  on  the  mountain  and  the 
medal  that  did  good  service  for  her  once  be= 
fore,  and  she  handed  it  to  the  rollicking  crowd. 
One  exclaimed:  "Hallo,  boys!  it  is  Mai's  safe- 
guard.    Why  are  you  by  this,  madam?  " 

At  once  seeing  her  advantage,  she  replied: 
"  He  is  a  brave  man — a  gentleman,  though  a 
Federal  scout.  He  will  live  to  resent  any 
wrong  to  me  or  mine." 


188  Joe:  A  Boy  In  the  War-times. 

A  burst  of  derisive  merriment  met  her 
si)eecli,  and  one  said:  "But  tell  us  the  med- 
al's history." 

She  did  so  briefly,  and  said:  "  This  is  about 
tlie  first  time  I  have  been  glad  at  the  presence 
of  Federals,  for  I  am  a  true  Confederate.  My 
husband  and  brother  are  in  the  army.  Like 
the  man  who  gave  me  that  medal,  they  annoy 
men,  not  women  and  children." 

A  few  of  them  interrupted  her  with  oaths 
or  hissing,  but  one  said:  "A  regular  Johnny 
Ileb  wife,  by  golly — brave  to  the  last;  let  her 
talk." 

"  I  have  little  else  to  say,"  she  rejoined. 
"  If  you  Avisli  to  do  your  duty  instead  of  an- 
noying families,  I  will  put  you  in  a  way  to 
help  one  of  your  own  men  who  is  in  a  desper- 
ate strait.  I  am  sorry  to  yield  liim  to  you, 
helpless  and  wounded  as  he  is,  but  it  is  best 
for  him.  He  needs  a  surgeon's  service.  Six 
come  with  me,  the  rest  remain  here  with  the 
horses." 

"That's  cool,"  said  the  ofTicor  with  an  oath. 
"You  mean  you  will  deliver  us  by  squads  into 


A  Bare,  Brave,  Gentle  Lad.  180 

the  hands  of  the  Eebels,  but  we'll  not  be  so 
entrapped." 

"No,"  she  replied,  "upon  inviolable  honor 
not  so.  I  could  have  delivered  him  to  the 
Confederates  who  were  here  this  morning. 
He  is  the  scout  who  gave  me  that  medal.  My 
life  for  his  for  the  protection  he  once  gave 
mine  and  me  when  we  were  utterly  helpless." 

"I  will  trust  you,"  he  replied;  "but  why 
divide  the  men?" 

"Because,"  she  said,  "the  descent  of  the 
mountain  must  be  made  afoot,  and  it  is  ea- 
siest made  this  side,  and  your  safest  way  to 
your  people  above  here  is  this  side.  The 
horses  should  be  cared  for." 

He  soon  made  disposition  of  his  men,  and 
said  to  her:  "We  are  ready  to  follow  you." 

She  answered:  "On  reflection,  I  must  not 
leave  the  children;  the  soldiers  will  frighten 
them."  And  thinking  a  moment,  and  remem- 
bering that  Benny  would  obey  her  fearlessly, 
she  said:  "Benny,  I  will  keep  Edna  with  me. 
Go  with  the  captain  and  his  men  to  where 
your  brother  and  the  scout  ar^.     Guide  them 


IDO  Joe:  A  Boij  in  the  War-times. 

back  the  smoothest  route.  Joseph,"  she  said 
to  the  soldiers,  "is  my  little  son;  his  dog  is 
with  him  as  he  nurses  the  scout  alone.  Don't 
injure  the  dog." 

Having  followed  the  boy,  they  were  soon 
back,  carefully  bearing  the  scout  on  the  large 
woolen  spread  to  the  cabins.  He  said  to 
her  as  they  laid  him  upon  the  mattress  she 
had  made  ready:  "It  is  all  right,  Mrs.  Donal, 
is  it?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "only  I  hate  to  give 
you  into  the  care  of  others.  But  it  is  the  only 
really  safe  way,  and  I  hope  you  can  bear  to 
be  removed.  You  will  fare  better  in  one  of 
your  own  hospitals." 

"  Not  better,  not  better,"  he  said,  "  but  much 
safer,  no  doubt.  Joe  is  a  rare,  brave  lad — 
gentle  as  a  girl,  too.  He  helped  me  much, 
and  Benny  guided  us  down  the  height  nicely; 
and  Edna,  I  ate  the  little  biscuit  you  sent  by 
Joe  at  supper-time,  that  Joe  said  you  cooked 
for  me  yourself,  the  first  thing."  And  he  fell 
back  exhausted  by  the  weary  trip  down  the 
mountain-side  ^nd  his  effort  to  talk. 


A  Bare,  Brave,  Gentle  Lad.  191 

By  day-break  lie  had  been  welcomed  into  a 
large  camp  of  Federals,  and  often  thereafter, 
as  their  soldiers  raided  or  encamped  in  that 
section,  the  cabins  were  guarded  by  them  and 
supplied  with  many  comforts  when  otherwise 
the  mother  and  children  would  have  suffered. 

From  that  time  on  till  May,  1864,  all  the 
rough  but  fertile  and  beautiful  region  be- 
tween Chattanooga,  the  Federal  head-quar- 
ters, and  Dalton,  the  head-quarters  of  the 
Confederates,  was  often  overrun  by  raiders 
of  either  army.  Nor  was  it  any  better  after 
Sherman's  invading  army  had  advanced,  in 
May,  against  Johnston  at  Dalton,  for  battle 
after  battle  on  his  march  to  Atlanta  made 
that  section  the  pass-way  of  his  sick  and 
wounded  and  recruits  and  camp-followers  and 
supply-squads  and  trains.  But  we  must  skip 
the  many  subterfuges  of  wit  and  cleverness 
by  which  Joe  and  his  mother  preserved  pro- 
visions stored  in  out-of-the-way  places  in 
rocks  and  crevices  and  hollow  trees  from  the 
gangs  of  marauders,  and  the  generous  acts 
they  did  for  the  suffering  of  different  classes. 


102  Joe:  A  Boy  in  fhe  War-times. 

Real  goodness  is  forever  its  own  reward, 
yet  many  reciprocal  acts  were  bestowed  on 
them.  Their  preservation  of  the  fallen  scout, 
known  to  many  Federals  and  Confederates  as 
well,  and  their  ud murmuring  endurance  of 
hardships,  as  true  Johnny  Rebs,  were  topics 
at  many  camp-fires  in  each  army,  and  won 
them  many  courtesies  from  brave  soldiers 
without  respect  to  party. 

But,  spreading  fire  and  death,  the  Federals 
swept  on  that  year  through  the  sunny  land 
till  Appomattox  came  in  1865;  and  Goldsboro 
--Durham's  Station,  rather  —  and  Lee  and 
Johnston  were  overwhelmed. 

So  the  fated  Confederacy,  dashing  and  bold, 
turned  into  smoke  over  its  fields  of  glorious 
ruins,  and  vanished.  Only  its  heroes  and 
heroines — man  and  boy,  woman  and  girl — will 
live  in  song  and  story;  and  their  descendants, 
building  up  the  waste  places,  shall  make  the 
historic  land  blossom  like  a  restored  paradise. 

But  we  must  not  sing  out  of  time,  so  we  will 
hurry  along  to  the  closing  chapters. 


CHAPTEl^  XIV. 

A  Joyous  Family  Reunion. 

PEACE  had  come,  armies  disbanded,  and  the 
Confederate  veterans  who  had  been  so  fort- 
unate as  to  survive  the  many  furious  battles 
were  returning  in  broken  bands  and  small 
groups  to  tlieir  devastated  homes. 

As  those  coming  Bouth-west  from  the  scenes 
of  surrender  journeyed,  they  divided  and  sub- 
divided, turning  off  the  main  route  in  mount- 
ain and  valley,  sad  yet  glad,  defeated  yet  un- 
vanquished,  till  they  had  scattered  over  the 
desolate  land,  and  one  by  one  entered  their 
forlorn  homes. 

Busy  Joe  and  Benny,  one  May-day,  finished 
planting  the  ravine  valley  in  corn,  and  the 
winter  oats  were  looking  green  and  growing. 
You  may  know  the  boys  and  cows,  that  had 
done  the  plowing,  were  happy  next  day,  which 
was  a  holiday.     The  boys  went  to  the  creek 

with  fishing-tackle,  Edna  and  luncheon  along, 
13  n08) 


194  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

and  old  Boone  slowly  pattering  after  them,  or 
dashing  to  the  right  or  left  as  he  scented  a 
rabbit. 

The  trout  and  perch  seemed  to  be  on  a  pic- 
nic excursion  too,  from  the  way  they  jumped 
at  the  bait,  and  made  the  lines  whiz  in  the 
water,  and  the  lively  fluttering  they  made 
as  the  boys  landed  them.  It  was  quite  a  lot 
of  the  beauties  they  had  captured  by  noon. 
They  built  a  fire  on  a  little  bluff  by  the  creek, 
and  broiled  several  of  the  fish  for  dinner. 
They  fed  Boone  under  a  shady  bush,  and  ate 
and  laughed  and  halloed,  and  leaped  to  the 
creek  for  water  when  they  burned  their 
mouths  with  the  hot  fish,  then  ate  away  again 
in  holiday  glee. 

Now  and  then  a  citizen  passed  by,  and 
went  on  happier  because  of  their  happiness. 
Amidst  their  joy  they  saw,  winding  along  the 
creek  road,  an  old  cranky  wagon  drawn  by 
two  scraggy,  solemn  mules  coming  toward 
thorn.  It  stopped  to  rest  when  it  got  to  the 
top  of  the  little  rise  near  their  picnic-ground; 
and  Boone  got  up  and  faced  it,  sniffing  this 


A  Joyous  Family  Heunmi.  195 

way  and  that,  whining  and  wagging  his  tail. 
All  quickly  looked  toward  the  wagon,  but 
seeing  no  one,  their  eyes  peered  doAvn  the 
slanting  road,  when  they  saw  two  ragged  men 
coming  slowly  and  talking  now  and  then  as 
they  wearily  walked  along.  They  were  grimed 
with  dirt  and  smoke,  and  their  hats,  like  their 
clothes,  lopped  about  full  of- holes,  and  Edna 
said:  "They  are  mighty  tattered  and  tired- 
looking." 

But  Boone  forgot  he  was  growing  old  and 
went  racing  to  them,  and  they  snapped  their 
thumbs  and  fingers  at  him,  and  patted  him, 
and  knelt  down  and  hugged  him;  and  Joe 
said,  "Father  and  Uncle  Jack!"  and  leaped 
toward  them,  forgetting  Edna,  but  bounded 
back  and  caught  her  hand  to  help  her  run.  So 
Benny  got  to  them  first,  but  not  much;  and 
that  was  a  happy  time  on  that  woody  road — 
happier  than  any  picnic  that  was  ever  on  that 
creek  before. 

Captain  Donal  picked  up  Edna,  though  she 
was  eight  years  old  now,  and  carried  her 
along  in  his  arms,  as  if  she  were  a  baby,  and 


196  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  JVar-timcs. 

kissed  Ler  and  kissed  her  as  they  went  on  to 
the  wagon;  and  Joe  and  Benny  swung  to  their 
uncle's  hands  who  greeted  them  with  many 
merry  smiles  and  words.  The  mules  did  noth- 
ing when  the  men  got  to  them  except  that  one 
of  them  winked  his  eyes  a  little,  and  both  let 
their  ears  flop  more,  and  went  into  deeper 
sleep;  but  Boone  sat  upon  his  haunches  pant- 
ing, and  looked  from  one  face  to  the  other, 
and  now  and  then  gave  a  quick,  glad  bark. 

"Children,"  said  the  Captain,  "what  are 
you  doing  away  off  here  by  yourselves?  " 

"Away  off  here?"  repeated  Joe.  "Why, 
the  mill  is  just  below  this  point,  and  moth- 
er's at  home  not  half  a  mile  from  there,  you 
know." 

"Ah!"  he  replied,  "we  have  been  along 
the  road  below  the  mill,  but  never  this  way 
before.  We  thought  we  had  several  miles  to 
go  yet." 

"Why,  father,"  said  Edna,  "the  cabins  are 
right  round  that  point  up  the  dim  road  a  lit- 
tle way;  don't  you  know?" 

"Yes,  yes,  now  I  know,  Edna,"  he  answered; 


A  Joyous  Family  Reunion.  197 

"and  I  am  glad  enough,  I  tell  yon.     Let's  go 
ahead  right  away." 

So  the  basket  and  the  trout  and  perch  were 
put  in  the  wagon,  and  Joe  shook  the  lines 
over  the  mules,  and  they  rolled  toward  home; 
Benny  and  Edna,  too  glad  to  walk  with  their 
father  and  uncle,  told  them  many  things 
pleasant  to  be  heard.  Soon  they  were  in  "  the 
dim  road,"  as  they  had  called  it  ever  since  the 
old  gray-haired  man  had  shown  it  to  them 
when  he  urged  their  mother  to  live  at  the 
cabins;  and  as  they  got  to  the  hill-top  they 
saw  a  busy  woman  hanging  children's  cloth- 
ing to  sun  upon  the  bushes,  and  then  turn 
to  the  house.  And  they  did  nothing  but  go 
along,  for  Captain  Donal  said,  "Don't  call — 
it  might  alarm  her."  But  the  wagon  jolted 
over  some  rocks,  and  she  looked  up  that  way, 
then  straightened  up,  and  looked  and  looked, 
and  shrieked,  and  fell  nearly  to  the  ground, 
and  came  bounding  like  a  joyful  girl  meeting 
them.  The  ragged  soldiers  forgot  the  chil- 
dren and  rushed  to  meet  her,  and  Joe  sprung 
from   the   wagon   and   ran   with   Benny   and 


1^8  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  JVar-times. 

Edna,  and  they  clung  to  their  Uncle  Jack,  as 
they  saw  their  father  kneeling  over  their  pale- 
faced,  dumb  mother  with  her  eyes  stretched 
wider  and  sweeter  and  softer  than  they  ever 
beheld  them  before,  looking  into  his  face. 
She  cried  and  sobbed  upon  his  bosom,  and 
then  he  took  her  up  in  his  arms  as  he  had 
Edna,  and  went  toward  the  cabins,  and  she 
said:  "No,  no,  James.  I  can  fly  now.  I  can 
dance  like  Miriam  on  the  Eed  Sea  bank  for 
joy  and  peace  in  my  husband's  safety  and 
presence."  So  he  gently  placed  her  upon  her 
feet,  and  kissed  her  again,  and  all  went  joy- 
fully to  the  house. 

I  don't  know  what  the  mules  thought  of 
the  scene.  They  were  good  old  army  com- 
rades, and  had  together  heard  many  cannon 
thundering  on  earth,  and  many  clouds  thun- 
dering in  the  sky,  and  seen  hard  war-scenes. 
They  were  not  used  to  these  soft  ways  of  peace, 
though  they  looked  as  harmless  as  doves  just 
tlien,  and  followed  on  of  their  own  accord,  and 
stopped  in  the  shade  in  fmnt  of  the  house, 
and  went  to  sleep  quite  lamb-like. 


A  Joyous  Family  Reunion.  199 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  the  family 
in  the  cabins  heard  a  row  out  there,  for  the 
lines  had  got  under  old  Jube's  tail,  and  he 
was  kicking  the  wagon-front  to  pieces  with 
the  celerity  of  sledge-hammers  driven  by 
steam.  The  lines  dropped  to  the  ground, 
and  he  was  directly  asleep  again,  looking  as 
though  he  never  had  lifted  and  never  could 
lift  his  hind  feet. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Returning  to  the  Old  Homestead. 

THE  hours  sped  happily  at  the  cabins  the 
next  week  or  two.  Old  Jube  and  Cleb  got 
fresh  and  were  fattening  apace;  Captain  Don- 
al  and  Uncle  Jack,  in  new  butternut  suits, 
looked  trim  and  glad,  though  gloom  at  times 
was  on  their  bronzed  faces  as  they  recalled 
the  battle  horrors  of  the  past  four  years  and 
the  defeat  that  had  followed.  They  w^ere  de- 
bating what  to  do. 

The  cabins  could  be  made  a  good  home, 
and  the  lands  attached  and  some  near  by 
could  be  bought  on  easy  terms.  Their  old 
home  was  in  ashes,  yet  tlie  lands  were  theirs 
and  uninjured.  But  in  that  section  of  Ten- 
nessee some  bitter  deeds  of  violence  had  oc- 
curred between  Unionists  and  Confederates 
since  the  close  of  the  war,  and  bad  blood  was 
ready  to  boil   up  and  flow  out  in  death  at 

any  moment,  and  where  least  expected.     They 
C200) 


Returning  to  the  Old  Homestead.  201 

could  live  here  in  peace;  tliey  might  have  to 
dwell  ill  strife  there.  Yet  here  many  needed 
homes,  and  the  cabins  and  planted  crop  would 
be  a  Godsend  to  any  of  them.  If  unmolested, 
the  season  was  not  too  far  advanced  for  them 
to  grow  a  corn  crop  at  their  old  Tennessee 
homestead.  This  they  decided  to  try  at  any 
rate;  and  as  Mrs.  Donal  and  the  boys  were 
not  in  debt,  they  turned  the  place  over  to  its 
kind  old  owner,  and  having  brought  Frank 
Prenant's  body  from  the  Chickamauga  battle- 
field, they  rolled  out  one  bright  day  Tennes- 
seeward.  Het  and-old  Ked  to  the  old  cart,  and 
Jube  and  Cleb  to  the  battle-scarred  wagon, 
stepped  forward  with  their  light  burdens 
slowly;  but  hopeful  hearts  cheered  them  up- 
hill and  quieted  them  down-hill,  and  the  dis- 
tance was  made  in  due  time. 

They  camped  one  night  at  the  Sunday-camp 
spring,  where  George  and  Sophie,  now  mar-- 
ried,  met  them;  and  the  hours  seemed  to  sing 
with  joy  as  they  conversed  and  made  merry 
together.  When  they  were  parting  the  Cap- 
tain said:  "Wait  awhile,  George.     We  often 


202  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

prayed  together  in  our  war-camps.  I  still 
follow  that  old  habit — only  my  family  now  is 
not  so  large  as  then.  Many  of  our  old  com- 
rades that  joined  us  then  have  crossed  over 
the  river  and  'rest  under  the  shade  of  the 
trees.'  AVe  are  spared  to  our  loved  ones. 
Lead  us  in  prayer,  George,  as  you  used  to  in 
the  army." 

Hearts  tried  in  battle-fires  at  white  heat 
joined  in  th^t  prayer  of  reunion  and  parting, 
and  they  sung  the  old  song  all  through,  "  How 
firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord." 
Their  voices  had  a  special  "melody  in  singing 
the  last  verse: 

The  soul  that  on  Jesus  doth  lean  for  repose, 

I  will  not,  I  will  not  desert  to  his  foes ; 

That  soul,  though  all  hell  should  endeavor  to  shake, 

I'll  never,  no  never,  no  never  forsake. 

Mrs.  Donal  said:  "The  Sunday  night  I 
camped  here,  a  driven,  threatened  fugitive, 
the  children  and  I  sung  that  old  song.  I  felt 
at  its  close  that  no  matter  how  weary  and 
troubled  our  way,  God's  own  care  would  be 
pityingly  with  us;    and  I  forgave  from  my 


Eeturning  to  the  Old  Homestead.         203 

very  soul  all  who  had  wronged  me.  Now  I 
feel  the  same  assurance  of  God's  sweet  care 
iu  the  future  and  the  blessedness  of  forgiving 
as  we  hope  to  be  forgiven.  You  old  soldie}-s, 
pledge  Sophie  and  me  that  you  will  wreak  no 
vengeance  on  any  one  for  any  thing  in  the 
past,  that  you  will  not  remember  the  sins  of 
any  person  against  you  or  yours." 

Sophie's  eyes  looked  yearningly  to  George 
as  the  words  were  spoken,  while  he  stood  as 
one  uncertain  what  to  say  or  do,  his  face  pal- 
ing and  flushing  with  conflicting  passions. 
He  said  after  thinking:  "When  mother  was 
without  protection  a  Unionist  too  fearful  to 
go  to  the  army  took  from  her,  on  a  fraudulent 
plea,  all  her  stock  and  the  corn  she  had  de- 
pended on  for  bread  for  herself  and  my  little 
sister  Nettie,  and  threatened  them  with  the 
lash.  Several  Unionists  went  from  this  neigh- 
borhood to  the  army  and  died  for  their  con- 
victions; others  of  them,  as  brave  as  they  and 
who  fought  as  well,  escaped  with  life  and  are 
at  home.  I  have  no  ill-will  toward  them — we 
are  friends.     We  talk  over  the  battles  where  we 


204  Joe:  A  Boy  rn  the  War-times. 

tried  to  kill  each  other,  yet  we  meet  with  joy 
and  part  in  peace  and  good-will.  I  cannot 
meet  that  man  so.  I  am  angry  when  I  think 
of  him.  I  have  determined  on  violence  at 
sight  of  him.  Vengeance  is  due  him  for  the 
vile  part  he  acted." 

"George,"  said  the  Captain,  "One  above- 
all  has  said,  *  Vengeance  is  mine.'  That  man 
robbed  your  mother,  and  is  despicable.  If  you 
take  vengeance  on  him  you  will  be  as  bad  as 
he,  for  you  will  rob  God  of  his  own — venge- 
ance. Vengeance  is  not  ours,  it  is  God's.  Jack 
and  I  have  talked  it  over.  AVe  have  deter- 
mined in  no  case  to  remember  the  past  against 
any  who  have  wronged  us  or  ours;  to  forgive 
and  be  at  peace  with  all  men — only  to  resort 
to  violence  when  they  reject  peace  and  force 
us  to  harm  them.  That,  I  think,  is  Christ's 
teaching.  We  are  his  soldiers;  let  us  be  brave 
enough  to  obey  him  and  be  like  him.  He  is 
the  Captain  of  our  salvation.  The  good  sol- 
dier obeys.'^ 

"  Well,"  said  George,  "  I  have  followed  you 
where  death  reveled.     When  others  fled  you 


Returning  to  the  Old  Homestead.         205 

and  Jack  stood  firm,  and  I  tried  not  to  forsake 
you." 

"You  never  did  forsake  the  post  of  peril," 
replied  Captain  Donal— "  you  never  did.  Only 
stand  by  your  heavenly  Leader  as  you  did  by 
me,  and  all  will  be  as  it  should  be." 

George  still  hesitated,  but  he  looked  into 
the  depths  of  Sophie's  eager  eyes  as  she  said: 
"I  have  begged  you  to  do  that,  George.  You 
know  it  is  right.  Let  there  be  no  more  strife, 
no  fighting  over  the  past;  and  your  mother 
says  so,  too." 

A  clear,  soft  light  shone  in  his  eyes  as  he 
answered:  "I  will  join  you  and  Begmer  in 
the  i^ledge,  Captain.  As  I  hope  to  be  forgiven 
I  forgive  all  wrongs,  and  will  not  remember 
them  against  anybody  by  word  or  act." 

The  army  comrades,  who  had  stormed  bat- 
teries together  when  death  dashed  at  them 
every  moment,  united  in  the  pledge  of  peace, 
and  the  witnessing  hills  and  heavens  and 
wives  looked  sweeter  and  dearer  and  quieter 
because  of  it. 

The  next  day  they  began  to  meet  people 


200  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

who  had  known  them  before  the  war.  Some 
greeted  them  joyfully,  some  turned  away  from 
them;  but  they  went  right  along. 

It  was  a  misty  day  on  which  they  neared 
their  old  home.  The  night  before  had  stormed 
with  winds  and  drifting  rain-falls,  and  the 
clouds  had  not  lifted.  Only  now  and  then  the 
sun  shone  for  a  few"  minutes,  and  the  vapors 
were  thick  uj^on  the  mountains  as  they  traw 
eled  on.  They  made  slow  headway,  for  the 
road  vias  slippery  and  splashy,  and  the  gloom- 
iness without  imparted  something  of  its  own 
nature  to  them  within  the  wagons.  Still  they 
hoped  i»t  did  not  presage  that  their  future  in 
the  valley  they  w^ere  nearing  should  be  drear; 
and  they  cheered  themselves  as  best  they 
could. 

The  tramj^ing  of  horses  meeting  them 
sounded  on  the  eastward  trail  that  came  down 
from  the  rugged  heights,  where  the  worst  type 
of  Unionists  had  denned  during  the  war,  and 
they  noticed  that  the  five  riders  were  armed. 
They  too  had  arms,  ready  for  the  v>'orst.  Thoy 
saw   by  the  abrupt  halt  of  the  noisy  group 


Returning  to  the  Old  Homestead.  207 

when  within  a  few  rods  of  them  that  they  were 
recognized.  One  of  the  five  had  been  a  Un- 
ionist captain,  and  had  fought  in  the  army 
awhile.  He  was  a  large,  muscular,  florid  man; 
rough,  gross  by  nature  and  habit — a  wild  boar 
of  the  forest  that  whetted  his  teeth  even  on 
innocence  when  it  was  more  or  less  helpless. 
This  man  glared  upon  them;  three  gave  them 
a  cold-  salutation;  while  the  other,  who  from 
the  first  of  the  war  had  been  at  the  front  as 
a  brave  private  until  disabled  by  wounds, 
greeted  them  cheerily,  dismounting  when  the 
wagons  came  to  a  halt,  and  calling  each  by 
name,  even  the  children,  warmly  welcomed 
them  back  to  the  valley.  But  the  bally  Avas 
purple  with  rage,  and  said,  *'  You  had  best 
go  from  here,  quick — the  people  want  you 
not — we  will  not  have  it,"  mingling  his  words 
with  oaths. 

Neither  Captain  Donal  nor  Jack  Besmer 
took  any  notice  of  the  insult.  If  they  were 
to  have  trouble  they  preferred  to  have  it  with 
those  possessing  at  least  a  trait  of  a  gentle- 
man, not  with  an  unkempt  man  whose  sum  of 


208  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

instincts  and  culture  was  that  of  a  ruffian, 
however  religious  lie  professed  to  be. 

Leaping  from  his  horse  with  drawn  revolv- 
er, he  caught  the  bridles  of  the  mules  to  turn 
them  back  in  the  road,  but  his  hand  had  barely 
gi-asped  the  reins  when  Jack  leaped  from  tlie 
wagon  and  felled  him  to  the  ground  with  his 
clubbed  whip  and  wore  it  out  upon  him.  Cap- 
tain Donal  had  in  ah  instant  put  himself 
between  Jack  and  the  other  men,  who  had 
drawn  their  weapons,  and,  hatchet  in  hand, 
said,  "I  will  brain  the  man  that  interferes." 

Their  pistols  were  quietly  belted,  and  they 
looked  upon  the  ruffian  tossing  in  helpless 
rage  and  i)ain  under  the  unerring  blows  of 
Jack's  heavy  hickory  whip-stock.  Tired  out, 
the  pale,  fierce  man  said  to  his  victim:  "You 
applied  the  scourge  to  more  than  one  good 
old  helpless  man  during  the  war — that  beat- 
ing is  for  them."  And  turning  to  the  others, 
he  said:  "  Men,  Jim  and  I  have  come  back 
to  rebuild  our  old  home  which  some  pf^r- 
sons  burned  down  in  times  when  many  could 
scarcely  know  what  they  did.     AVe  have  come 


Beturning  to  the  Old  Homestead.         209 

to  seek  no  revenges,  to  rekindle  no  strifes,  but 
to  promote  peace  with  all.  AVe  greeted  that 
man  as  we  did  the  rest  of  you,  in  friendly 
terms.  We  make  no  threats.  We  were  boys 
together.  AYe  are  come  to  resume  our  old  re- 
lations as  though  no  war  had  ever  been,  as 
near  as  is  possible  to  us.  Let  there  be  no 
ill-feeling  between  us."  And  bidding  them 
good -morning,  he  broke  the  bully's  pistol 
across  a  rock,  and  hurling  the  pieces  into  the 
gorge,  he  and  Captain  Donal  moved  on. 

"Jimmy,"  said  Jack,  after  Eeeny  and  the 
children  had  been  soothed,  "that  hatchet 
vt^asn't  the  best  thing  for  defense  with  two 
revolvers  at  your  breast." 

"AVhy,  Jack,"  he  replied,  "those  men  were 
all  glad  to  see  us.  They  had  been  so  long 
overawed  by  your  friend  at  whom  old  Jube 
bit  as  he  touched  the  reins  that  they  handled 
their  weapons  involuntarily.  They  enjoyed 
the  scene — I  could  tell  by  their  faces.  I  hope 
there  will  be  no  more  such.  We  will  forbear 
in  this  instance  till  forbearance  itself  will  be 
a  wrong.     AYhile  you  were  whipping  that  man 

14: 


210  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times.^ 

I  thought  of  poor  old  Crantz  whom  he  had 
scourged." 

"  I  inferred  as  much,"  said  Jack,  "when  you 
•cried,  *A  little  more  grape.  Captain  Bragg! '  " 

The  clouds  had  thickened  as  they  conversed, 
and  the  thunder's  echoes  in  the  mountains,  and 
lightnings  flashing  on  their  tops,  and  the  floods 
of  rain  falling  among  the  tossing  trees,  and 
the  groaning  of  the  wagons  over  the  stony 
road,  reminded  them  of  some  of  the  battle- 
scenes  of  the  past,  except  that  in  those  they 
looked  for  death  at  any  moment,  while  in  the 
sublime  scene  of  the  mountain  storm  only  a 
strange,  wild,  yet  subduing  X3leasure  met  them 
at  every  turn. 

And  the  storm  had  rolled  away.  The  sun 
had  broken  and  scattered  it  into  drifting  frag- 
ments of  dark  vapor  which  soon  took  on  a  less 
shaded  hue  and  then  were  white,  and  floated 
in  the  purified  ether  like  ships  of  peace,  with 
full  canvas,  sailing  in  the  skies. 

They  halted  on  the  road-side  at  a  rock- walled 
spring,  around  which  they  had  spent  many 
a  boyhood  hour,  and  drank  of  its  icy  waters 


Returning  to  the  Old  Homestead.         211 

and  cooled  their  brows  in  its  gurgling  current; 
and  Het  and  old  Eed  and  Cleb  and  old  Jube 
enjoyed  its  refreshing  tides  and  rested  and 
cooled  off. 

While  lunching  on  the  spring-wall,  they 
talked  of  the  new  house  they  should  build 
after  the  lands  were  planted,  and  the  tent-life 
they  should  live  by  the  old  home  spring  till 
winter  came  and  the  new  house  was  habitable; 
and  after  Eeeny  had  read  to  them,  in  her  sil- 
very, low  voice,  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  First 
Corinthians,  they  journeyed  on  and  were  soon 
among  the  trees — some  charred,  others  in  glo- 
rious foliage — where  the  old  house's  ashes  were 
whitening  the  clay. 


CHAPTEt}  XVI. 

A  Touching  Story  Retold. 

THE  mules,  left  to  themselves,  stood  in  the 
sunshine  dreaming,  but  Het  and  Eed  drew 
their  cart  into  a  tree's  shade,  every  now  and 
then  lowing  for  joy  that  they  had  got  back 
to  the  old  home  mountains  and  fields  and 
streams. 

The  family  first  grouped  at  the  spot  where 
the  ashes  of  the  family-room  had  fallen,  then 
went  here  and  there  apart,  though  Edna  fol- 
lowed at  her  father's  side  whichever  way  he 
turned.  They  were  seeing  all  they  could  of 
the  old  home's  ashes,  trees,  vines,  flowers,  and 
views  far  and  near,  each  heart  throbbing  with 
gratitude  to  God  who  had  brought  them  all 
back  in  safety. 

It  was  when  they  were  all  gathering  from 

this  point  and    that   in  the  yard  to  the  cart 

in    the   shade  of  the  trees  that  old  Farmer 

Prenant,  having  risen  from  his  dinner-table, 
(212) 


A  Touching  Story  Retold.  213 

stepped  out  on  his  front  porch  and  sat  down 
in  his  arm-chair  to  think  and  think  and  doze, 
until  the  air  should  cool  from   the   midday 
heat;    then,    glancing    around    as   his    heart 
recalled  one  and  another  of  the  things  and 
faces  of  the  past,  he  beheld  the  group,  and 
wondered  who  the  travelers  were.     But  as  he 
saw  a  little  girl  dash  out  toward  a  cluster  of 
wild  flowers  and  chase  a  butterfly  more  beau- 
tiful than  its  mates,  and  two  boys  follow  to 
help  her  in  the  sport,  he  struggled  to  his  feet 
and  said:  "Hetty,  Hetty!   come  here— come 
here,  ole  wife.     I  do  b'leeve  yonder  is  Eeeny 
an'  the   childern,  with  two  men,  come  back. 
Eun,  now,  ole  gal,  run !  " 

Aunt  Hetty  was  soon  at  the  door,  and  giving 
one  look  across  the  narrow,  swarded  meadow, 
she  rushed  along  the  footpath  in  that  direc- 
tion, bare-headed,  waving  one  hand  and  then 
the  other  as  she  ran,  every  few  steps  wiping  her 
eyes  with  her  old  checkered  apron  flapping  at 
her  waist  — the  old  man  hobbling  after  her, 
loaning^ on  his  long  staff  as  he  moved  onward. 
The  group  at  the  trees— charmed  by  the  chiL 


214  Jue:  A  Buy  in  the  W(ir-timcs. 

dren's  racing  now  here,  now  there,  as  the  but- 
terfly bobbed  about  from  flower  to  flower — did 
not  see  the  old  folks  till  they  had  come  more 
than  half  way,  when  with  joyful  steps  all  hur- 
ried to  meet  them. 

"Why,  Keeny,  Eeeny!"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Hetty  as  she  fell  in  weeping  ecstasy  on  her 
neck.  "  Pieeny,  child;  it  au't  you,  is  it,  honey? 
How  we  have  missed  yer  at  the  ole  church 
on  the  hill!  An'  it's  Jimmy — an'  Jack  too; 
both  safe,  both  safe!  Glory,  glory,  halleluiah 
to  the  God  of  peace  forever  an'  ever!    Amen." 

"An'  amen,"  added  the  old  farmer,  puffing 
forward  to  greet  them. 

Aunt  Hetty  fluttered  around  them,  and 
kissed  the  hem  of  Eeeny's  garments,  hugged 
the  children,  and  called  Boone,  and  patted  the 
cows,  and  looked  into  their  soft,  quiet  e3^es, 
and  said:  "I'm  a  great  mind  ter  kiss  yer  too 
—fhaf  I  am." 

When  her  flurry  was  over,  she  said :  "  rioon y, 
come  right  erlong  ter  the  house,  gal,  with  eTim- 
my  an'  the  childern.  Ole  man,  you  an'  Jack 
hvuvj;  them  heff*ors  an'  mules  erlong,  an'  the 


A  Touching  Story  Betold.  215 

wagins.  Come  right  erlong;  dinner's  ready, 
dinner's  ready — leastways  will  be  afore  you 
can  turn  roun'  more'n  once  or  twice;  it's  jest 
er-longlii'  fur  yer  ter  eat  it." 

"  We  ate  dinner  at  the  old  rock  spring,  Aunt 
Hetty,"  said  Eeeny.  ''  Let's  all  sit  down  here 
awhile;  the  lads  will  feed  the  stock  presently. 
I  haven't  seen  you  half  enough  yet  to  have 
you  hiding  in  the  kitchen  from  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Donal,  "  take  this  chair. 
Eeeny  says  she  took  it  with  her  when  she 
started  to  Georgia  because  you  had  given  it  to 
her  when  we  were  married.  And  here's  an- 
other for  you.  Uncle  Prenant.  Sit  down;  we 
want  to  see  you  all  to  ourselves." 

By  this  tiine  Andy  Prenant  had  seen  them, 
and  was  coming  up  as  Jack  and  the  boys 
had  unharnessed  the  stock  and  were  feeding 
them.  He  was  a  battle-scarred  veteran  Union- 
ist—Farmer Prenant's  youngest  son— and  he 
greeted  them  all  heartily;  so  entirely  like  old 
times— seemingly  with  a  tenderer  voice  and 
manner  than  ever;  and  every  heart  was  fresh- 
ened with  pleasure  by  his  coming. 


21G  Joe:  A  Bou  in  the  Waf-thnes 

They  talked  of  many  things — the  younger 
men  lolling  on  the  grass  with  the  children, 
the  rest  in  chairs  where  the  shade  was  thick- 
est. The  old  people  spoke  of  their  son  Frank, 
of  his  soldierly  conduct;  that,  with  thousands 
of  others,  he  had  been  killed  in  the  battle  of 
.  Chickamauga,  and  had  been  buried  on  the 
field,  they  supposed;  and  how  they  had  longed 
for  the  soldiers  to  tell  them  more  about  him 
that  woful  day,  but  they  could  not  after  Andy 
and  he  got  parted  in  the  fight. 

An  hour  later  in  the  chat,  Captain  Donal 
reverted  to  Frank,  and  said:  *'Aunt  Hetty,  you 
used  to  love  me  as  a  son,  I  thought." 

"Yes,  yes,  Jimmy — that  I  did;  an'  jest  as 
much  now.  God  bless  you,  boy!  You  an' 
Jack  an'  Andy  an'  poor  Frank  used  to  'mind 
me  of  brothers;  an'  in  the  last  letter  Frank 
ever  writ  to  us  he  said,  'Send  word  to  "Lit- 
tle Sister  "  that  I  love  her  more'n  ever,  ef  you 
ever  find  out  where  them  wretches  driv  her 
to.'  " 

"And,"  continued  the  Captain,  "Andy  and 
Frank  seemed  almost  as  near  to  me  and  Jack 


A  Touching  Story  Betold.  217 

as  we  were  to  eacli  other.  We  differed  about 
the  war,  but  we  had  no  hard  words;  and  we 
felt  like  brothers  fighting  against  brothers,  I 
presume." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Andy,  "Frank  often  said 
he  never  coald  hurt  you  or  Jack  knowingly, 
no  matter  how  fierce  the  fight." 

"It  was  a  furious  battle  at  Chickamauga," 
continued  Captain  Donal,  "where  the  bravest 
were  tested  to  the  depths;  and  Frank  fought 
in  the  thickest  of  it  till  he  fell." 

"Did  you  see  him,  Jimmy?  did  you  see 
him?"  Aunt  Hetty  yearningly  inquired. 

He  went  on  with  his  narrative  as  though  he 
had  not  heard  her  eager  words  nor  seen  her 
awesome  look,  and  he  said:  "  Pieeny  sent  little 
Joe  to  find  me  and  Jack,  and  he  got  to  the 
battle  the  second  day — he  and  old  Boone  that 
Frank  used  to  frolic  and  hunt  with  so  much; 
and  all  day  long  till  near  the  battle's  close  he 
and  Boone  were  hunting  for  me  in  the  thick 
of  the  fight  this  way  and  that,  for  he  was  too 
young  or  too  anxious  to  think  of  danger.  He 
missed  Boone  at  last,  but  after  a  little  he  heard 


218  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

liim  howling  a  few  Imndred  yards  away,  in  the 
woods  where  the  bombs  and  bullets  had  done 
terrible  work.  He  went  to  the  spot,  and  old 
•Boone  was  lying  down  at  a  wounded  soldier's 
feet,  howling  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  Joe 
saw  that  it  was  Frank,  and  he  gave  him  water 
from  his  canteen,  and  got  him  to  take  some 
wine  and  brown  bread  that  his  mother  had 
sent  to  me  and  Jack.  I  passed  near  enough 
in  the  battle  for  Boone  to  scent  me,  and  the 
first  I  knew  of  it  he  was  licking  my  hand  and 
acting  so  strangely  that  I  followed  him  to 
where  Joe  was  kneeling  down  by  Frank  try- 
ing to  help  him.  Frank  knew  mo,  but  he  was 
too  near  the  other  world.  Aunt  Hetty,  to  last 
much  longer.  I  took  his  head  in  my  lap,  got 
him  to  drink  a  little  more  wine — it  was  hard 
for  him  to  swallow — and  it  wasn't  long  before 
he  stretched  out  his  hand  and  clasped  mine, 
and  said:  'It's  all  up  with  me,  Jimmy.  Tell 
mother  and  father  how  I  died  at  my  post  fight- 
ing for  the  old  flag,  my  face  to  the  foe;  and 
tell  mother  it  is  all  right  with  mo,  it  is  all 
right  with  me  and  heav — heaven.     I  am  go- 


A  Touching  Story  Retold.  219 

ing  there,  I  know.  Good-by.'  And  lie  was 
gone  up  to  God  from  my  lap,  Aunt  Hetty, 
looking  as  brave  as  liis  father,  yet  gentle  and 
good  as  you." 

Aunt  Hetty  had  leaned  down  on  Eeeny's 
lap,  weeping  silently,  and  the  old  farmer  and 
Andy  had  gathered  tloser  to  Captain  Donal 
as  he  went  on  with  the  narrative,  saying: 
"Jack  and  I  and  Joe  slept  by  him  that  night, 
and  the  next  morning  we  made  for  him  the 
best  coffin  we  could  out  of  some  ceiling  that  we 
took  from  a  house  a  mile  or  so  away;  and  we 
shrouded  him  in  Jack's  blanket,  as  it  was  the 
best,  and  buried  him  where  he  died;  and  we 
prayed — prayed  there  over  him  for  Uncle  Pre- 
nant  and  you." 

There  was  a  shudder  in  the  aged  mother's 
frame,  and  smothered  sobs;  but  she  lifted  her 
fair  old  face  toward  heaven,  and  said:  "  O 
thank  God!  O  how  I  do  thank  him  for  that 
burial!" 

"An'  we  thank  you  too,  b'ys,"  said  the  old 
man;  "an'  you  too,  fur  all  the  kind  ways  you 
had  erbout  him." 


220  Joe :  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

Aunt  Hetty  stretclied  out  lier  ^vitherod 
Lauds  and  pulled  little  Joe  down  on  her 
bosom  and  caressed  him  lovingly,  and  said: 
*'Toa  are  brave  an'  good  like  your  father, 
an' — an'  like — like  my  jjoor  lost  Frank.  God 
bless  you,  Joe! " 

The  Captain  paused  till  her  feelings  were 
controlled,  and  said:  "When  we  determined 
to  move  back  here,  brother  Jack  and  I  and 
little  Joe  took  Het  and  old  Eed  and  the  cart 
and  went  to  the  battle-ground,  not  twenty 
miles  from  the  caoins,  and  dug  Frank  up  and 
put  another  box  over  his  old  one,  and  brought 
him  along  with  us." 

Aunt  Hetty  stood  up  now,  then  clasped  her 
hands  and  knelt  down  by  her  sobbing  hus- 
band, and  looked  into  the  Captain's  face  as 
though  angel  tidings  were  coming  to  her,  and 
she  would  not  live  if  she  missed  a  single  note. 

"  Little  Joe  drove  the  cart,"  continued  the 
Captain,  "for  he  said  he  would  jolt  Frank 
least  of  any.  So  we  brought  Frank  with  us. 
We  tliought  may  l)e  you  would  all  like  to  have 
him  where  you  could  i)ut  flowers  on  his  grave; 


A  Touching  Story  Betold.  221 

and  Eeeny  and  the  children  have  kept  him 
covered  with  all  the  prettiest  flowers  and 
mosses  they  could  gather  on  the  way.  And 
that's  why  the  cart  is  festooned  with  vines 
and  flowers,  as  you  see,  and  the  wagon  is  not/' 

The  story  was  told,  and  battle-scarred  Andy 
said:  "It  is  a  soldier's  deed,  and  yet  a  wom- 
an's. Mother  always  said  you  reminded  her 
of  Euth  in  the  Bible,  and  would  add,  *But 
he's  David  when  the  full  time  comes.'  " 

No  more  was  said  then;  all  seemed  to  be 
communing  with  their  own  hearts. 

Presently  Reeny  and  Aunt  Hetty  went  quiet- 
ly to  the  flower-laden  cart,  and  old  Farmer 
Prenant  and  Andy  followed.  They  looked 
awhile  upon  the  box,  covered  with  evergreens 
and  blossoms;  and  as  they  sedately  came 
back  to  the  chairs,  Reeny  took  a  curly  lock 
of  brown  hair  from  her  bosom  and  gave  it  to 
Aunt  Hetty,  saying:  "Joseph  brought  it  to 
me  from  the  Chickamauga  battle-field.  His 
Uncle  Jack  clipi^ed  it  from  next  Frank's  left 
temple." 

And  Aunt  Hetty  pressed  it  to  her  lips  and 


222  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  Witr-t(7ucs. 

held  it  tightly,  as  though  it  were  more  pre- 
cious than  rubies. 

Andy  and  other  messengers  went  to  and 
fro  in  the  valleys  and  mountains  around,  all 
that  afternoon. 


Peace  PVIeans  Peace  with  Brave  Men. 

THE  next  morinug  tlie  trails  and  roads  in 
the  hills  and  valleys  for  several  miles 
around  were  alive  with  people — afoot,  on 
horseback,  in  carts,  in  wagons — going  toward 
old  Farmer  Prenant's.  Serious  old  people, 
mild-eyed  children,  subdued  young  men  and 
maidens,  old  and  young  soldiers  of  late  re- 
turned from  both  armies,  traveled  together. 
The  story  of  Captain  Donal's  return,  bring- 
ing Frank's  remains  with  him,  had  sped  from 
valley  to  valley,  from  dingle  to  dell,  from  hill 
to  cliff,  and  they  were  gathering  to  rebury 
Frank.  After  the  beautiful  Methodist  burial 
service  had  been  read  by  the  minister,  and  he 
had  pronounced  the  benediction  at  the  new- 
made  grave,  old  Farmer ,  Prenant,  his  white 
hair  hanging  about  his  shoulders,  stood  in 
the  midst  and  said:  "My  friends,  the  day  uv 

war  hev  had  its  way  with  us.     Its  ways  is 

(223) 


224  Joe:  A  Boy  in  the  War-times. 

fullest  uv  sorrows  nur  glories  ter  the  people 
uv  er  country.  Er  few  rich  folk,  an'  er  few- 
sick  folk,  an'  er  few  mean  folk,  an'  the  poli- 
tishiners,  sech  as  kings  an'  congressers  an'  er- 
wantin'  ter  be  sech,  kin  hide  outen  its  way  uv 
loss  an'  blood  an'  death  arter  er-bringin'  it 
on  by  tlier  liquor-feasts  an'  lusts  uv  hate  an' 
I)ower.  The  people,  though,  has  ter  stan'  it, 
an'  fight  it  out,  souls  an'  bodies,  an'  all  they's 
got,  ontwil  it's  done.  Our'n  is  done.  We  all 
fit  in  it,  one  way  or  ernother.  We  gin  our 
pervisions,  an'  our  stock,  an'  ourselves,  an' 
our  b'ys  ter  the  war;  an'  we've  fit  through  it 
best  we  could,  more  or  less.  AVe  hev  been  er 
mixed  up,  divided  nabohood  in  these  parts. 
Er  man  hev  er  right  ter  his  own  sense  uv  duty 
— it  are  er  right  uv  er  freeman;  an'  we've 
fit  from  north  to  south  erbout  it  ontwil  the 
war  is  done. 

"  Some  uv  you,  on  both  sides,  hev  lived 
through  it,  an'  many  hev  lost  ther  dearest 
ones.  We  mourn  together  from  the  ice-lakes 
ter  the  orange-lakes.  One  uv  my  b'ys,  you 
know,  fell  in  Furginny  with  some  uv  y our'n. 


Peace  Means  Peace  with  Brave  Men.    225 

on  both  sides,  an'  went  np  together  ter  the 
great  white  throne.  An'  one  uv  my  b'ys,  our 
Frank,  fell  at  Chickamaugy,  an'  bled  ter  death 
in  the  lovin'  rebel  arms  of  his  old  playmates, 
Jimmy  Donal  an'  Jack  Besmer,  who  fit  on 
t'other  side,  an'  brought  him,  arter  many 
months,  ter  be  reburied  ermong  us,  on  the 
little  hill  whar  he  were  borned  more'n  thirty 
year  agone.  It  were  a  peaceful  deed  them 
b'ys  done,  ter  stop  fightin'  ter  try  an'  save 
Frank;  it  were  er  peacefuller  deed  they  done 
ter  bring  him  home  arter  the  war,  covered 
with  flowers,  ter  Hetty  an'  me. 

"Peace  is  come.  The  war  are  done.  Let 
him  that  felt  an'  talked  strife  do  so  no  more; 
let  him  that  fit  at  home,  or  in  the  army,  fight 
no  more.  B'ys,  b'ys,  women-folk  an'  childern, 
let  us  all  now  try  fer  them  things  that  make 
fer  good-will  an'  fer  peace." 

They  all.  Federal  and  Confederate,  knew 
the  old  white-headed  octogenarian  Unionist 
—that  he  was  a  born  hero,  a  heaven-bound 
Christian,  a  true,  patriotic  citizen-neighbor — 
and  his  words  hid  in  their  hearts;  and  they 


226  Joe:  A  Boy  In  the  Wur-tinics. 

sepai'ated,  reinspired  with  mutual  good-will, 
going  this  way  and  that  to  their  several 
homes. 

Many  made  it  convenient  to  pass  the  spot 
where  Captain  Donal  and  Jack  Besmer,  with 
Heeny  and  the  children,  were  lingering  with 
uncovered  heads  to  greet  them  pleasantly; 
and  W'hen  one  and  another  Union  soldier, 
tried  in  the  fire  of  many  battles,  greeted  them 
joyfully,  the  people  knew^  that  peace  meant 
peace  with  brave  men;  and  they  spread  the  glad 
thought  among  themselves,  thenceforth,  in 
word  and  deed. 


THE    END 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
115 


